He reaches to her.
She shakes him off and walks away.
His head lays limp to clavicles
and he walks the other way.
She shouts something he cannot hear
from across the room, but
he’s already deep within himself
again.
A draft falls, sideways, across him
and he lowers his shoulders to the floor,
knees bending so as not to break,
and his heels lift off.
Giving him his distance, she
feels she’s done right by him.
Why should she behave any differently
than he has? Is he really that upset?
Why is he curling up on the floor?
He leaks insanity like a steamy pipe.
She continues walking, changing her
alignment so to walk against the wall.
Perhaps a door in this room will show itself
before she meets the tightness of a corner.
He raises his head to wipe his nose
with collar of his shirt.
She follows his movements, hoping
he’s alright. She breathes.
He tucks his head between him and
the floor again, hoping she
doesn’t see him. He holds his chest
with lungs, inside, so not to cry
anymore.
She moves her face but not her eyes from
him. She opens her lips, saying
silence across the room.
He collects himself, staying on the floor
in hopes she moves so he may counter
without falling prey to their bonds.
She turns her eyes, breaking from
the stagnant air and he moves,
settling to a squat. She breathes.
He gives her his breath as all
he has and she breathes in.
He waits for her to release
him from her lungs,
though he wishes stay.
She laughs.
He tilts his head, looking
to her as though she jabbed
a knife into his abdomen.
She widens her lips
and bares a bit of teeth.
He raises himself in her smile,
heels flat against the floor.
She turns her arm so palm
lays flat, outstretched
towards him.
He runs to her. She
welcomes him.
