According to legend,

Our first iteration
was created by the gods,
Joined together,
Spared of physical distance.

Until the gods realised the power
Of a being that housed a soul so complete
That it possessed everything in the world
When there was nothing but itself.
So the gods conspired to keep us

From conquering their race in strength:
Cleaved the being down the middle,
Flung its halves to the far reaches of existence.

They meant to weaken,
Yet I argue they only made us stronger.

That, when the two halves rejoin
They equal a fusion more dangerous than
two halves creating a whole:

Two wholes creating a pair.

That is my intro, my thesis,
and we are my evidence.

Myself, sitting in a room, 324 miles away from yours, precious moments hanging over a worldly bedspread
covering red sheets and us,
together--watching bad Netflix.
Devoid of a moment’s jarring realisation
That the distance between us somehow equaled
Distance within us.

The pages covered in the ink from your pen,
An imitation of the ink drawings
traced onto each other that very first summer--
we didn’t dance,
we didn’t need to use words.

The ink, sewn into my skin,
A tribute, a tether point
For the coils of each other
Spanning miles on miles--
unbreaking.

Your voice wending through wires
On its lightning trek to me
sometimes, occasionally,
never often enough,
Yet it doesn’t need to be.

The gods didn’t know
their powers have limit:
To cleave moments
But never to touch eternity.