When making love
I think your body’s whiteness
loses meaning over
the whiteness of mine
as if it were useless
to have one color dissolve
over the same color.

But one minute later I understand
that the rising pallid waves
of our bodies
do have meaning.
This is because, when they find each other,
Our bodies are the landscape
of such a quiet sound –
mobile still waves.
And I understand that we hold tight
in the same way
that a windowpane
tightens under the wind’s pressure
to shatter in an embrace
of splinters and cracks —
fragmenting
in a silence of water and air
within our flesh
in the night of the room.

And I understand that it has meaning
to break your mirror
against mine
to see
my feet or find your mouth
in the broken, reunited pieces,
in the whitest repetition
of our bodies.