there is a match
burning on the table
in the house
we're locked out of
my hands are cupped
against the dust-encrusted window
i'm watching it
closely
the house
is on the branches of a tree
the tree is on the summit of a mountain
the mountain is its own island
You're standing on the ocean floor
your arms vertically out towards me
waiting
for decades
I am a butterfly
You are a starfish
we've never met
we never will.
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