a state incompatible with life
you are flat
I didn’t expect paper-thin
a pulsing strawberry at Christmas
touch pads forming your fingertips
on that nebulous grey two-dimensional sketch
you and your twin reached to one another
but you hid exception in your heart
each minute three beats behind then four then more then
the paperwhite narcissus papyraceus thrusts
from bulb sack each spring
but you my nine-week bloom what will you be
milk-crescent small and dense nothing at all
when I next lie flat searching
the screen from paper table
now the other tumbling in the expanse prods me with finished fingertips
and I don’t know if it wants me or is looking still for you