pulling each other though the dark
hand on the curve of a hip,
the swell of a shoulder,
every which way as the sidewalk spins
I try to remember how to say ‘tectonic’
because it’s an earthquake,
us spilling out on the pavement
something about the shifting
in my stomach;
and my ankles rolling as I fall back,
because you shriek
don’t step on the cracks,
something about backs but I’m laughing
heaving and hard;
and the heaviness of my head,
pressed against your chest
aftershocks when your hands reach
needing balance and finding
my cheeks, breasts, elbow,
tickling, curious, and I smile
when they brush my lips,
and my world is crumbling down
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