The Book of Weston

there is a cube of gelatin hovering

between you and i.

color: red. dimensions: 3ft x 3ft x 3ft.

it floats between our faces, always.

when i speak, my words slice like

dozens of razor blades

into its thickness

but never quite reach

your side.

the cube closes around them

and my words dissolve.

you speak back

and i receive ripples

on my side

i interpret like tea leaves,

as best i can.

we accept these partial truths

because we have to.

somehow we maintain

a relationship like this, somehow

we call this love.

i try to read your warped face

through the translucent goo

and wonder how beautiful you must be

beneath these mortal distortions.