the plasticians

i awoke to a sonic serenity that piqued my third eye. her diaphragm movement creates infinitesimal waves that radiate from her center. i can feel these ripples on my skin. i can hear the turbulence in her lungs and feel the displaced air when she exhales. with my ear placed flat against the surface, her cardiac metronome creates a pattern of regularity; which brings an indescribable organic feeling that surges through my veins.

her nervous system mirrors mine.

i still call this place home, but this is not where she belongs. i run my hand along the top of her head, following the tiny trench of scalp in which she parts her hair. i zigzag my fingers over her hair, my motor responses fluctuating from coarse and perpendicular to frictionless, smooth and parallel. i can't locate her hands, but her forearms are crossed across her chest, reminding me of an escape  artist bound in shackles and padlocks. i let out a sigh, but i can't discern if it is of relief or frustration.

she doesn't belong here, but she's settled in through the open gate.