Unfinished

I feel like we are two little bees

dancing around a flower

that we think might be poisonous

and so I say, "You go" and you say,

"You go" and we both go together

and suddenly we are dusty with pollen

our abdomens swollen

our chalklines misshapen

into one blob, so that you can't really tell

where one arm ends and the other's leg

begins.

And that's what we are doing,

we are beginning, like kindergartners

to discover our favorites.

What is your favorite mood swing?

Mine is the one where you are laughing

and then suddenly you look at me

and you are deeply serious in your soul

and so afraid and so captivated

that I can't help but smile mischievously

and smirk at your incontinence.

I think yours are my sounds I make,

like a manatee would if it were groping

on dry land,

at every bad or good or weird part in a movie.

I like that I can't remember you are lactose intolerant

and so consistently offer you milk products

which you decline politely, every time.

I like that you keep hitting me.

I like that we are unfinished, like a Sappho fragment,

and only we, who write ourselves into each other's lines

every night, know what those hidden parts mean.