jigsaw

what's
sticking
in my mind
is that
you couldn't
get over
how soft my hair was

like you'd forgotten the feel of it
(in two weeks only)
just
newly washed,
that's all -
nothing
special

and still, delight
in this
for me.

then, the usual
overwhelming sadness
(I still don't understand it. It's
like some foreign, in-hiding
part of me)

and then, the usual
vine-limbs tangling
turning into
heads pressed together
turning into
lips softly searching in the darkness
turning into
me finding your collarbones
turning into
you
turning yourself
into me

and myself and yourself
turning ourselves
inside
out
together