• There is a sort of way about it
    The doing and not-doing
    That make us, singularly, like two sides of a coin
    With one side saying "yes"
    And another saying "no"
    Touching one another, forehead to forehead
    Hands to hands
    A perfect fusion of
    positive and
    negative integers
    Like an equation
    that is infinite in its solutions
    Endless in its possibilities
    (and impossibilities, still)
    The push and pull of a tide
    That is us
    The tugging of a rope
    That is us
    The squeak of a swing
    That is us, breaking apart at our links
    Because "yes" and "no"
    In your eyes
    Are two incompatible things
    And you don't see the harmony in the creaking metal
    Only its faults
    Perhaps
    When we are younger
    You will understand these things