You and I
We were ancient together.
The first to discover the divinity of touch—
Before language,
Our skin spoke for us—

My fingers made love to the spokes of your spine and
You heard the very first songs whisper in my breath on your throat.

It occurs to me that this
Is the hallowed memory of all
The generations—
Birth of stories, letters, speech, rhythm
And all the glorious singing.

How desperately I crave
To describe the transcending and essential Everything of
How every work of art is a blueprint,
How every act of violence is a howl of abandonment.
Then simply
There is
Your cheek on the soft and empty
home of my belly,
Your hands cover me in holy worship and
You show me the first of firsts
and all

Meeting you again is coming home.
Somewhere we are buried under sand and limestone.
Here you are buried in my body under a ceiling of unseen stars.

It seems in eternity again and again we collide
The same stardust, the same vibration—
Sometimes strangers—
Spread wide apart across the yawning universe
Home again,
In the beginning,
as in the end.




Brooke Reynolds is a former barista, dishwasher, backwaiter, food runner, waitress, hostess, reservationist, and expo (somehow never a bartender) who now teaches Pilates and writes poetry on the subway.