the fabric of division

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i prefer the cotton touch
of pleated aqua quickly pressed
on my temple
where i cannot feel
tidal waves cracking down
and lightning shoots from
uprooted power lines
where my lips go numb
thrashed and kneaded by
the violent sea

i prefer the gentle blue spark from
friction between our clothed lips
for it reaches past my face
and ignites my heart's wick
i absorb that warmth of flesh
pasted behind wrinkled paper
creased into a smile
as we giggle
how sillly we are
to kiss without contact
to touch through cotton
but my waxen heart drips
stalagmites into my knees
i yearn to fall
on the blue half of your face
intertwined thread pulled between
our facial blankets: chordae tendineae
webs us together
i'll have the ghost of your kisses
bloom heat across my face
and not set it ablaze

if such things keep us apart,

we are the definition of love

- call me crazy,
but there's something about
kissing me with your mask on
that softens me more than your lips

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