Are we platonic
or are we just tectonic plates—
always rubbing each other the wrong way
when we try to move closer,
opening and reopening canyons
big enough and fast enough to swallow whole houses.

Do I
slip up and over you,
instead of letting the soft folds fold over each other,
wet and content? Can we only
widen the oceans,
spread out the coast,
organize continents so lonely and so young.
Have we only just emerged
from the molten magnum rock
to find the only thing keeping us suspended
is our own disbelief?

Do we move the earth when we touch?

Sometimes I mistake the sound of your heartbeat
for the sound of a tidal wave turning over the land
moments away from turning me over, too.
Sometimes when I hear the sound of your breathing
I mistake it for the sound of water rushing around my head.
I can feel my arms, legs, spine being pulled in contradictory ways.

Sometimes when you are silent
I think I hear thunder.

I know what it’s like in inner space,
the parts of the earth so hidden we deem them unfit for life,
where all the creatures are just creatures that never should have been.
I know every time I move to touch you
I could be swallowed by a bottomless pit,
or spat back out on the surface, alone.
I’ll blame it all on the magnetic pull—
opposites collide and abide no laws.

09/20/2009

Posted on 09/20/2009
Copyright © 2010 Stephanie Lane Sutton