I'm calling this a Mirroratras. Each poem mirrors each other, but backwards. Both become one poem, united yin and yang.

Slipping through our toes The grit of organic muds This evening among strawberries You are in your row, alongside Studying a berry in your palm How the flesh glows red and gives The teardrop underside Will it fit the open lips As you turn it toward sky? In your bending, ripe and green Your breasts drip to touch Upon the tips of grasping leaves Will you hold me, dirty As the sun dips pink At the end of our rows? Of the Flesh

Of the Flesh At the end of our rows As the sun dips pink Will you hold me, dirty? Upon the tips of grasping leaves Your breasts drip to touch In your bending, ripe and green As you turn it toward sky Will it fit the open lips The teardrop underside? How the flesh glows red and gives Studying a berry in your palm You are in your row, alongside This evening among strawberries The grit of organic muds Slipping through our toes