Poem: Platonic-Atomic Theory

How much does the steam cool
between the coffee and our noses?
What flavors does it take with it?
How many times do we alter what we
say halfway through our sentences?
Two halves never make a whole.
Even children jump in puddles before
the sky reclaims it—but neither holds
so strong the other doesn’t get a taste.
Should you place your palm on frosted glass,
I’ll mirror you—it won’t be much, but
some of our touch just might make it through.