All The Places We Make For Each Other

You are a softness

I keep seeking:

the curve of your side

fitting mine in the night,

the permission to be both wreck

and diver, the air

in the aftermath

of an apology accepted.

*

When my oracle warps

the threads of our present into a future

of tangles and knots,

you whisper

a prophesy of worth: Blanket. Hammock. Net.

into the dark, damp places my soul likes to hide.

*

You whisper: what if we are not oracles?

I answer: then what do I do with these threads?

You chuckle, already weaving something soft.