Those who found each other

He breathes a woman out and then he breathes her in.
She's on his pillow and then in a deeper place.
They can barely reach each other in this tiny bed.
Her arms are tiny and then stronger than his.
He wants to talk during lovemaking
to help remember where he is.
She puts so many hands
all over his disappearing lips.

The blanket's been missing for years.
She pulls the whole rug up and puts a set of lips
near the middle to eat the dust.
He helps her burn the grass growing over their bodies
she helps him make the scorched earth in mid-air
over their faces become wet with rain again.

The flood that licks at the window ledge
is not close enough. The hurricane on the television
falls out the window with a crash.
There's a film of granite dust on their eyelids
that they can't lick off without choking to death.
They vomit up a sheet of minerals
into the air that says:

those who find a mate for their souls,
still alone in their separate bodies;
under all the talk and touching,
unknowns reaching silent toward unknowns.