Poem 20160217

a piece of me, a fractured piece of me
and a piece of you, just as jagged

they try to fit to together
–teeth of mismatched gears–

where motion should be smooth
instead the sound of snapping glass bones
screams of angels with cinder wings
bits and pieces falling wetly to the floor

the machinery stops so we mop up the blood
and try again

each time there is less and less of me left
each time there is less and less of you left

this is why we break

unevenly matched where there should be symmetry
but when the gears meet at last–we transcend

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