What they said of love
was functional
and dyslexic.
Love got us
wrapped up
in one blanket,
sleep patterns waiting to shift.
We cried
about death –
of people not known;
of people known;
of it happening to them all.
We went up a carousel
for a different worldview.
We felt deeply about
the world
and the words that
didn’t fit between us, sometimes.
And nothing at all some other times.
We lifted up our souls a little
and tried putting them next to each other’s.
We made furrows of hope
and buried the non-believers’ bit
deep inside them.
We wavered, splintered,
even fragmented a little.
But kept walking,
hand-made emotions resting
in the dent of our palms
