What if
we spoke
about how
we can’t
speak to
each other,
and by
other, I
mean other
versions of
our selves,
and what
if, as
the words
crashed on
our lips
like ocean
tides that
won’t be
held back,
what if
we realized
that our
speaking about
not speaking
is a
starting shore,
sea water
collecting on
our cheeks.
Oh, sea water is salty, isn’t it. Nice connection between form and the “two” of the poem.