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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.

Adriana Grant

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