Poem: and we are bound by symmetry

these pretty things are not mine. these pretty things are ours.
and i wanted to tell you, about how we cannot say why we need a better reason to
explain the tension in our bones. and how sunrises are little ecosystems of their own,
the light filling inside our throats, while these pretty things are not mine. these pretty things are
not mine, they are ours. and if i could tell you, why we know what is good, what is not
coming, why we fear things like the dark... and the skin of your arms are perfect sheets,
white, shallow, the depth of veins, stark.. if i could tell you, and these pretty things are not
mine. these pretty things are ours. these pretty things are meant to be owned, these pretty
things are ours. these pretty things are ours...