It burns beneath
the boundaries of your skin
lined against mine.
But the spaces that shadow our thoughts
chisel us farther into that dark folly.
We lie wordless waiting for roles to flip:
You become my constant; I become less variable.
But we are immutable in our ways.
Obstinate is a synonym we cling to.
They say there's comfort in knowing where to go.
I say there's also comfort in holding this trajectory
with you but without that destination.