i can’t force what isn’t there.
you get hernias that way.
give your breath
your stutter-lunged grasp of wind
to me.
these lips of yours play,
stuck on mine
in motion moved from limb to pool to your
eyes,
your eyes, wide-shocked with mine behind, in tow–
what glimpse of you, this, your shiver-shake of hold,
gives–
how, slow, in rise,
in
ten-folding
of these
sweats,
i wish to give
you more in return of gifts—
bitten,
lie amongst my arms and know me,
your breath
on drum
laid silently
‘neath your skin:
all i’ve come to be,
yours,
the comforting
sigh repeated
&n
bsp; with lungs’
quiet rise
and short’n’d push–
how your throat
calls to me
for lips’ security
and i, a
weaker
guard in these,
your
eyes, your wrap, your fingers,
find no use to stay from answering.
by close of finders, i’ve come to find
this calm in movement internalized,
this breeze of thought lapping at lips
to widen and to loosen them, full
within your knowledge of this universe,
Ours;
a knowing of your blush through nudge slown
to mapping draws in trick of nerve,
a play on tick’ to lick of pore;
and in this, our capsuled star let bake,
a drowning of one another grows in breathing, more,
with give of you
and of me take’.