is this an ancient line of poetry,
delicate beauty
unwinding in a complex rhythm,
intertwining our souls?
or the residue of
old dysfunction,
rationalized by invisible needs
buried deep in the recesses of
our psyches?
and after all,
perhaps they’re just
the same thing.
pushing and pulling at us.
at each other.
we spin against one another,
helpless.
the same.
