The Silent Letters

Beyond organic notions of
this protein stained strand. Our culture of ourselves;
You and I speak same languages. Gestures of wild intensity,
Protohuman eating habits born in infant stages of starvation.
We speak in vague awe: Heinlein always, Asimov sometimes,
Hubbard never. Babble on about the importance of understanding
When no one quite understands
What you are talking about. I know you,
Your dirt underneath fingernails: potted plants make less mess than cats.
My stacks of papers fall everytime the overhead fan is turned on.
White sheets of paper sometimes dance in the extra bedroom I have made my office.
Not quite clones but too close. We are evolved notions of ourselves
As ourselves. Sharing this: Likes and dislikes, reflections.
We could have been born of single parents and moved notoriously into separate homes
Secreted away changeling-wise into elf mounds. Sidhe mentality never shared what has arose
Into this separate sameness.
You and I speak ourselves. The same language of ourselves.
There is no word for us.