When the whole world
is muscle and skin
on skin and muscle,
breath a rhythm and time
nothing, the only talk
a finger and suck.
We are round so much
that even at the tide swell
I think of pulling back.
My god, this is how awful
it could be. We are living
twins, tethered in sheet.
Muscle and skin and we pretend
a little death won't touch
us. Our bodies a little sky,
an abyss into which we fall
falling, hips
breaking against each other
like waves, the sun
of your mouth burning mine
and in this love
whole landscapes beckoned,
the water rising, a gulf breached.
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