You and I speak without words:
our bodies contort into the characters
the alphabet lost long ago.
Our skin shivers in pitches too shrill
for human ears,
and we grin,
knowing that only we
can speak this way.
A lingered graze with shivered fingertips,
a biting eye contact only broken by rushed blinks--
I giggle, while you smile and nod:
“I’m so happy I’m here,
I’m so happy I’m here,
I’m so happy.”
You find comfort in my silence,
I find chaos in your safety,
but neither of us has the vocal cords to say.
My mind re-writes the same line from long ago:
‘It’s as if we’ve lost our voices
in our quests to find ourselves.’
From a bird’s eye view, our limbs are entangled in the form of
a typeface question mark;
concentric symbols running across the page
with impossible urgency:
but you and I,
we’re too lost in our questions
to lift our eyes from the ground,
for even just a second.
Will we ever know the truth in anything?
I can’t really say,
I can't really say.