Twin
We are not so connected as we used to be.
Words flow from your mouth like spiraling fireworks
exploding in infinite directions.
I have long forgotten the sticky sweet smiles on strangers’ faces
when Mom dressed us in matching floral patterned outfits.
I have long forgotten that sour twinge — like an out of tune guitar pluck vibrating through its hollow acoustic body — when someone called me
by your name.
Your eyes — once the mirror image of mine — now sunken into the wormhole that is your brain, reflecting only its warped reality.
My heart shrinks as if compressed by a black hole
as you trail the outer limits of the universe.
As children, we stretched in the damp grass and wished on stars.
I imagine those wishes colliding with the moon,
each one crammed in a crater.
And I can’t hold you any more than a planet can hold a moon:
you orbit my embrace, you remain
at arm’s length.
