I laid an atlas out in front
of you and said “pick a city.”
You smiled at me
and the ink bled into your hands
where you touched it.

What I didn’t say was,
pick a city where I can hold
those hands.
Where we can walk the streets
and people will only stare
because your fingers are
the land and mine are
the sea and they’re
finally coming together.
Where people won’t look twice,
simply because you are a girl
and I am a girl and didn’t
Aristophanes once say that humans
are two halves of a whole?

No one should call us wrong
for being brave enough to
let our hearts wander and
return to a person
who feels like home.