We blurred edges with the eviction of should
and all those borders breached, but slowly –
your hand palming jawline, small breast, laddered ribs;
our shy feet, moving closer:
schoolchildren, toeing inevitability;
my thumb on the hammock of your upper lip,
impossible, then, to do nothing.
Ours was a space, gray
amoebic and moss-soft.
Around us: black notions, white morals,
clean lines marking mine and yours and mustn’t.
Photo by Katrin Hauf on Unsplash
