Infinite Lines Of Love

The colour of your blood is red.

Mine too.

On some days, 

It’s the only reason that makes us stay.

The only reason that lets us breathe.

Breathing is an art

I have never mastered it.

Your hands touch mine, 

And I forget every biology lesson

I had ever learned.

You ask me to teach you 

A lesson in loving,

And I fumble,

My vision distorts

As I struggle to form words, 

My lips move, 

But there’s no sound.

The sound of your heartbeat 

Lulls me to sleep at most nights.

On others, it keeps me awake. 

Your hands trace straight lines,

On my side.

Straight lines are infinite.

Distance takes birth

Between the infinite lines

Of our entwined palms.

Grows.

Throbs.

Explodes.

The skeleton of our hands remain

In a union forged by death.