Veiled

Womb, a kiln akin to their moltenmoments—

the final product shaped bythe composition and preparation of the bodies:a man and woman undressed.

Part of the firing process includes to sinter:heating until the mass flows together.

They were born cognate to this process,they were born cinder:burning without flame.

Their twin words flourished,signed in blood and bone,writing their flesh in cursive—conjoined.

Each wrist, ankle, knee, and elbow:letters of their own alphabet.

Children emblazoned,adorned heraldic:the insignia of shared skin.

Such armorial trappings rousepomp and ceremony—a battle to begin with a rage of wordslike freaks, like monsters.

Never harrowed by their wordlessness,their mother always privyto the weathers of their glances.

Dance was strategy.Was this strange?

Their voices hung like shadowsin their muteness—the crowd saw an act of mutinyand an urge to harm.

Shunt words, carve and cash theminto curiosities.

Words dismembered the twinsmore than any knife—each forced phrase an axto their private arc.

Fear wound open their mouthsand words fled like broken teeth—they spit at each other.