Our hands cupped, two bowls
Half empty. Half full.
To each other at half volume,
We link fingers;
Honesty, I ask for,
And you do not return a word.

We both remember collisions
And hands on nets pinned like
Clothes out drying,
We both remember
Hot ice cream; we both create
Oxymorons. Paradoxes.
Black holes.

But our cupped hands
Cannot hold each other:
And so,
Silently,
We lose.