As for Soul Mates
Run with the hunted. Run with a rat pack of poets. Run with the alumni of your blue-stocking university, chums from the war room, the boys in the band.
Cluster on bar stools, around tables, in bowling alleys and churches. Huddle with the minions out front of Fred Meyer before sunrise the day after Thanksgiving.
See the world from a tour bus, a cruise ship, the rec room in a geriatrics retirement home.
I prefer walking solo.
As for soul mates, I see mine every morning in the mirror, then I put the cap back on the toothpaste and walk away.