Parallel

Parallel

By Lily Roberson

The moles on his face are an ink print, 

matched perfectly on either side,

and I wonder what it means if

I see a future in them

 

His skin rises with gooseflesh

as I press my hand against it

and he tells me it’s always been that way,

that it’s always been me

 

When he chases me,

the arches of our feet align perfectly

with the curved mexican tile

that sings a steady tune to our dance

 

And when he catches me,

I feel as though I can cup him in my palms

and watch him burn through me,

like a flame consuming paper

 

And all the raw sugar cubes I spent

my childhood stealing were in

preparation for his honeyed skin

parting my lips for a spoonful

 

But tell me that your eyes soften around me

And that I fragment your heart too

So that we can intersect

Instead of running forever parallel