We are not architects.
We are incapable of designing even
the most rudimentary of concepts.
We are not ranch style homes
with islands in our kitchens,
shiny steel pots hanging from hooks.
We are not adults when we are together,
We are not day jobs and early nights.
We are not rational.
We are not quarterly clocks
or forgotten promises,
we are not clean slates.
We are not Christmas traditions
or dinner table arguments.
We are not first loves.
We will never be that old couple on the beach
watching the sea.
We are not pegged legged or one armed,
and although capable of swinging,
we do not always land on our feet.
We will never be lawn mowers or garden tenders.
We will never be teddy bears or multicolored legos.
We are too old to be children.
We are not competent with building blocks.
We are not good liars,
we are not without the burden of guilt
and the expectation of consequence.
We will never be nuclear.
We will never be suits and formal wear
We are not made of plastic,
our colors run,
our sides bend.
We are not indestructible.
We are merely chemical.
The reactions of our exchanges
through touch send easy fever.
We are not poetry.
We are not romance novels.
We are instruction manuals
and wings pieced together
from the remnants of kites.
I don’t know what we are.
When I ask you,
you can only tell me who I am.
You can only say how you feel.
There is no we.
Dare I say
we are holding each other in the dark.
That we are not thinking about tomorrow,
but counting this moment for all it is.
Dare I say all we are is right now.