212°

I often think about you in my sleep

I wonder why you visit only then

Admit to hope there is a meaning there

You sit and yet your coat stays on to talk

And my insides tense and brace

I think maybe I hate the way you laugh,

Until hate rises and congeals as love

A boiling point that changes the very thing

I thought I knew to be what exists in the in between

I think maybe I’m jarred by learning how

To see myself the way that you see me

Admiration, reconciliation

Fear cooks off into vapor and we become

Magnets testing which parts push or pull