My two loves don't pull my both arms in opposing ways,
but the feet that wear high heels on the right, sneakers on the left,
and which I would walk with no problem.
They are either this and that,
the maybes and possibilities of my 5th grade Science project: feasible.
They are what an adulterer is envious about.
They know each other, be friends with each other,
while rolling in the same bed that I lay.
They are the silence that spoke to each other
over coffee inside the cloud that lingers above my head.
They are the very hands that tickle my side
and pamper the other,
the same hands that decorate my hair with glorious braids,
I'd be mistaken as a goddess.
And if the two shall flee,
I'd cut myself in half, so we'd never be apart.