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we are like scissors, perfectly clasped together
firm and shining and precise, wasting nothing
all legs and arms and polished surfaces
conjoined at the hinge place of rejoicing

but our embrace, this secretly sharpening affair
cuts and cuts a swath through the days
a fraying and nasty incision
threatening to hemorrhage the yellow glue of betrayal

we are like scissors that steal and
the teeth of our passion bite
across the fabric of our lives, regardless
of the warp, the woof, the snags left behind

when will we be like the loom
knitting ourselves into life
bridging the soft thread of living
each to every?

when will the machinery of our hearts and lungs
no longer need to be muffled
and the metallic edge of desperate rendezvous
melt into the purl and grace of a Sunday promenade?

when will your morning kiss feed me
like daily bread
and we can say of ourselves, we are cut
of a single cloth?

Loom © 2000 by Tobin James Mueller
"Falling Past Love" published by ArtsForge Press.
All rights reserved.