To the object of my indifference

I hurt you, I think –
or you hurt yourself
on me:

a bruise here, a cut there
while terrified eyes looked
on, wide and moving fast.

Monsters don’t want
to be monsters most
of the time.

Unnatural, unfit, I
wished I could fly
over the whole earth,
between planets and stars,
carrying my own cruel
atmosphere;

I wished you saw in you
what I did; I wished you
wished to be better than we
were.

Our lines converge only
over infinite distance;
we do not meet at any point;
but micro-filaments still bind us
tight.

Marionettes without masters,
we pull against each other,
and dance and box with air.

I saw, you saw,
we shared shame
and made it
more.

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