Close That Wound Or Keep Bleeding

See me standing here
holding a bouquet of red
hot irons. You say, "No, no, no,
okay." As if a heart
can be cauterized half-way.
"Stay," your hands find me,
mine are miles away.

You say we are only two people in a sea of people
in an ocean of humanity, ever-expanding toward
our swirling mirror image, yet caught between
chemical desires as our molecules were charged
to form the double helix and, step by step,
stored preferences for feeling, communicated
our deepest thoughts, yet left me guessing.

You are heavy-handed,
but keep the iron at bay.