(Soul) Mates

By Emma Smith

Our voices cut through the dark, under bedcovers 

Whispering and sharing secrets and shame

Carefully dissecting and defending who we were 

What we are 

What we will be 

The condensation drips from our wine glasses as we

Howl with laughter at his expense, living for the plot 

Exposing truths and lies – vindication pours from the bottle 

Gigging and gasping until we’re asked to leave 

Floating home spent and relieved 

The drive is quiet; what you didn’t know you needed 

The smell of disinfectant in the air as you clasp hands 

that hold you until your full name is called 

Making sure you don’t bottle up, shake and explode 

But if you wanted to, that would be fine too 

Women share joy and pain, like we were created as one 

Only to be split apart 

Roaming the earth until 

we find each other