Antimony

We are incompatible.

She is nourishing water of life.
I am blackest oil, floating.

We are drowning
amid a sea of interaction—
the clash
of an elbow,
the bump of virgin hips,
an innocent glance shot
through the hordes of
shuffling masses
with perfect
timing.

We are incompatible,
and yet she dares crane
her neck to sneak a peek
at what might be found,
what she could pursue,
on the other side of
the vast, looming
expanse which
separates
us.

I rest my head,
dreaming only of
her presence,
her embrace,
her warm touch,
her innocent eyes,
her comforting smile,
and her delicious voice
which threatens to
bring me to tears
with every
luscious
syllable.

I am cold, corrupted,
sour to the taste,
and full of empty words,
a consequence of
isolation
suffered over
many years.
Yet still
she spies me,
reaches for me,
holds me close,
cherishes me always.
For we are incompatible,
but opposites always attract.

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