the immortals

if you climb silently into my skin
on a cold windy night,
my oceans will not refuse
the silence you carry
when the words are beyond us
and around us, dragging syllables,
sounds, serpents.

it is close to our blood,
to our uniqueness and despair.
we held impossible meanings
in between our teeth
as if we could bleed poetry
every time the ink pen fell
on our white t.shirts.

but we both know poetry
can't save us from the fortune cookies
we were given before
we could even choose
our own pain.

both you and i were made
to be hesitant and incomplete.
sometimes we forgive the rhymes.
sometimes we are the rhymes,
the rhythm, the rare overdelicate clouds
enveloping the innocents.
sometimes.

can't say we are necessary though
because we waste our time
becoming miracles, becoming sentences
crying for the same old baptism suspended
between what we dreamt and are.

we aren't ashamed of that yet.
we still have many years ahead
to be resilient and dwell in our
own murmur and paranoia
because here is where we still
sprout up in darkness
as the moon sews
our satin mouths,
our floating selves.

karla bardanza