Something for the Brothers (who are currently positioned in my line of sight)

I will lay your broken sorry heads on my bosom, where they may splash wherever they like. And your simultaneous glances will open wounds of my own, for you to lick clean and sew together. And your laughter in the hollows of my joints. And you hand on her back as if you knew her, or loved her. And instead of looking into you

This is how it feels to meet a poet. I took his hand in mine as if it belonged to me and glanced up at his face for a moment. And I am sure that his eyes remained on mine, but I stole a glance downwards and as my left slipped with a mind of its own over your right, so that I sandwiched you with my sweaty palms, I took in the sight of our hands entwined, because that's all I've ever really been able to look at, honestly. Suddenly there was space between our skin (so sudden I'm not sure I even noticed it as it happened). And I told you, there's something I want you to know about. And I told you, I'd like to write it down for you, so you can look at it, and do with it what you will. And I said, I don't know if I can do this, my hands are shaking. So with a deft, smooth movement, you relieved me of the weight of the small black notebook with its perfectly-sized pages and said, I will write it for you. So I told you all you needed, and with your own pen you wrote me down onto the squared page, which you tore out and took to keep.

Later, I sat out in the sunlight watching you and your brother move in circles and speak. I rubbed sunscreen onto my burnt shoulders and felt sticky. And the sunscreen smelled like summer. And for a hot second I was filled with poetry, but it dried up in the grass like spilled water. I remembered that I wanted to tell you that I'm teaching myself quantum mechanics, and that I wanted you to ask me why. I wanted to be able to tell you that it's so I can write truer things.