I think of us as a Venn diagram, two ovals making
union, my yin seeking optimal overlap with your yang.
But north-facing magnets perpetually polarize our
perimeters, every minor interaction implodes into
a push-me-pull-me tug-o-drama – the toothpaste cap
rolling in the bathroom sink, the crusted cans
cluttering the recycle bin, the maxed-out (again)
Visa. Tits-for-tats, our minefields of petty
disgruntlements escalate, words carelessly
scattershot – always, never, fault, hate – leaving
behind crumb trails of unarticulated ultimatums.
But then, we sleep or, perhaps, make love – no,
it’s fucking pure and simple – and we lose ourselves
in the animal noises, the words peel away, and our
amalgamations circle to their singular intersection.
Inspired the 52/250 prompt "union of opposites".
This 'story' a bit of an experiment for me -- I was trying for a 'concrete' prose poem using half or fewer words of the allotted 250 words. I dislike google's limited formatting options -- imagine this perfectly justified in Verdana 12 pitch font.