Stories

Stories

Our veins spell in cursive
once-upon-a-time stories
about a man and a woman.

Fingers wound together,
the earth and the air melted
into each others arms.
Hills became her breasts,
his hand, the rock that steadied.
The wind breathed their fears to the caves
and the caves held their secrets to her bosom.
While oceans rushed to shore,
the sands clutched to the tides.
They sighed, "The world is one"

Until a quake jolted them to their feet
drew a crack on their boulder.
Lips to ear, they whispered
"Run away together,
You and I"

In a night so dark even the stars slept,
They lost each other in a forest,
Feeling nothing but bark and wet leaves
Sitting down, he held his hands up,
she placed hers neatly at her lap.

Time's vines curl in cursive
It grows between two lovers
whose hearts have learned to feed on tears
(born in throats, never learning escape)
Until the bitter rivulets carve the flesh.

In the woods,
I saw two mossy statues.
Their backs against a tree.
Centipedes have taken over their bodies.
The vines-- no one bothers to untangle.

I look at my hands
wondering if the same story is written
in the curling cursives of my fingers.