Eve Rounds

apple picking in the kitchen

ceramic paring knife to
pink lady skin
your chest tips forward to meet my shoulder blades
small in comparison
your arms build a tunnel around my rib cage
plenty of room to spare but we spare none
your face rests heavy to the side of my spine
lightly smiling lightly scratching

we share a pale transparency
of entirely different tones
yet matching
we share
the space
and
the sour
crunch

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards

love

what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you

noise

sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing

the theatre

this is  a silent film flickering  catching  starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories  captured images disconnected nonsensical we

Twins

It isn’t easy being a twin.   Others considered us as one two-part person,  while our parents saw,  in our conspiring, four or more.