burn burn burn

Something Like A Bridge
by d. steine

We parcel our selves
And trade with each other,
Through glances, gestures and words
A handful of fears
And a sky filled with our desires.

We trade quotations of our lives
Fruits and goods of experience harvested
After being toiled in the garden
Where the sun lives and dies
All over and over again.

We even trade our silence,
We breathe deep
While memory seeks to unearth
The pieces we lost or misplaced,
At times finding those pieces
We choose not to trade.

I spread our traded pieces,
Yours alongside mine
And discover they share
Bursts of red passions,
Hues of blues,
Warm white and cold black
On their skin and flesh and smell.

There is that space between us,
Silent as the dead,
Distant like the stars of no particular time
And I would like to fill it
With something I crafted on my own,
From the memory of the pieces of what we trade and traded.

Something like a bridge
To span along the ocean of gray space
between us.