“A thing cannot exist without its opposite,” he told her
As he lit two flames and absentmindedly pressed them together
Her heart reached beyond her chest to kiss his
And the lump he’d found in her breast
Two minutes before
Dissolved as her fear did
Because she knew
And she knew he knew
That they were all the colors in every photograph she ever took
They were all the notes in all the chords his fingers ever struck
They were every curve of every letter
A poem that would write itself
A story to live in every new language
In every new time with a place
And in all the places where time
Had long since ceased to exist
And if their tale were ever to be finished
If it could ever, possibly be found
Among the works complete
The Opposites would turn, in unison,
To reach for the pen
To light up a smoke,
To press fire together
And begin again