When we met, we thought we were talking, but, really, our souls had left.

We provided cover for them by speaking, and doing other gestures of human relating,

While, really, what was happening, was our souls had met.

They’d flitted out the window, hand-in-hand.

They laughed like little children being bad.

They hid behind us humans, playing peek-a-boo,

And we thought we were just talking.

Little did we know, as soon as I sat in your car,

A hand had reached from my heart to yours

And pulled your soul out, like a friendly ghost.

Mine said to yours, “Let’s play,” and they did,

While we continued to sit, side-by-side, not even touching.

When our souls returned home – seeped into mouth and nose,

Settled down into heart, then deeper still, into pelvis, knees, and toes –

Some of yours came into me, some of mine went home with yours;

Thus, our bodies were primed to know each other.

As time leaned forward, tendrils of soul entered my finger tips and touched your lips,

Then slid to my arms and held you,

Then fell to my belly which brushed against yours,

Then to my breasts, whose skin touched your chest,

And I noticed that body knew you,

But I didn’t know how.

Poetry by Rachel
rayintheworld.com
instagram.com/arayintheworld
Pastel on Paper by Catherine Querneau
catherinequerneau.bigcartel.com
instagram.com/catherine.querneau