When you grew up together, each of your bright, brown but amber
eyes mirrored the other's, alluding your shared grandmother's
heartline of genetics. Stepping in time with the three year
age space you two alone were able to find campfires,
blood on the dirt, sparks on your tongues, and a lively,
cousinly sense of brotherhood. Equally opposite and
beautifully accurate; young girls with careful words bursting
through smiles cannot tell the difference between yours and his,
the blurring lines. Such blurs turn into memories, such memories
turn into ash, and any bonds once known in a stolen kiss
eventually all shake themselves into seasonal nonsense.
To fall in love with one is to gradually find the other,
when the young girls find how your cousinblood trumps.