A Fight Against The Intuitive

They say everyone is a mirror. Do you face a fun house or the ten feet reflection in a sunlit room that hides no mistakes?

Do you recognize who gazes? An amalgamation of everyone you have ever known? Those who have altered your DNA?

It is you and me at once. There is no separation. Trains roaring down parallel tracks due north. Destination to be seen. Tunnels devoid of light, swaths of land to traverse. Wherein tracks wind through station stalls, familiarity is essence but paths askew.

To my left there is the sea, I turn adjacent— could that be you? Or is that me?

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The degree to which I was aware of my participation in sexual intimacy with him hit only after it was done both ways and we laid parallel, untouched in his bed.

Intimacy is a language. It alters its dialect upon who participates in the conversation and what its parameters are yet to be. Wants and needs are intangible at their core. How we act out these desires is when the abstract becomes freed.