Like running, like breathing
These days it feels like breathing, like sleeping, like conversation. Sometimes
like running. A reintroduction to my own breath. I know your body’s pleasure
better than I know my own. Skin and slip and kiss. A bent over slide, like some
ride, you make of me. All the while watching.
In the mirror, we perform for the glass, though only I see this scene.
That’s you, your licked fingers, making my back arc.
A curled-toe shiver. A crying sigh and collapse.
Afterwards, we are again separate. Legs wound round, a shared immediate
sleep, mammal warmth. Here we are.
Author Discusses Poems