what familiar colors
we are.
We risked, picked up thir-
teen lives
and in two parts,
we rose our hands
into lonely, fevered fists.
Brother,
here sits a
blue ocean bridge.
It shakes us into ditches,
arranges us onto white sands-
bloody white sands-
and makes us rain.
Brother,
My hands are boxed and
wrapped, but I see
uses in marching them
to capture your finger tips.
May I deposit them
with yours?
And will they hold
one another?
Brother,
I am youthful,
not seasoned, nor accustomed
like you.
But see
what familiar colors
we are.
And know,
what union I will be
taking with me
when I betray you.
Spoiler
(This was based loosely off a past event in his-to-ry~)
