original love
Mark DeCarteret

this kissing without strategy
yes, the ballooned lips
and trespassing tongues:
two more or less bodies
trying to reach an accordance
with the overhead light
and those sharpest of stars
yet, because we won’t ever
be comfortable finding the words
to let the other one know
of our losses, our emptying lungs
we’ll remain this soft puzzle,
our arms eternally asleep