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
Words and Feathers 