67/365: Dexter and Sinister

hands

It's funny how
love can ebb and flow
ebb and flow
over years, minutes, seconds,
and with every return it is new again,
warm and familiar,
bright and terrible,
a comfort and a release,
a frightening vulnerability
we'd as soon destroy.

I want to be both the cruel child who tears off its wings
and the god who embodies its ideal form:
siamese hands, left and right.


I am writing one poem every day in 2016, and I am using the hashtag #365poems to document my progress.