You moved like me. Like I like to move
both knowing and not knowing where my ends contain me.
I felt your gesture, your delight in finding volume
as both memory and something else,
something separate.
There were days when our need for each other weighed evenly.
We were a matrix,
a pink orb lifted from the sunset of some desert motel painting,
a massive bubble set in motion by tiny lungs
West of here
Like that glowing ball in the gallery,
the one you couldn't keep from hitting,
but cosmic in size.
We moved there together
among them.
the Barbies hidden in bunny suits,
like gimp wear, but loose fitting with ears,
the ass cheeks and other things that matter.
We absorbed meanings
soaking the sphere around us
with image and song
a faux star
a wolf's head wearing our human breasts
mine searching for balance between ache and arousal
We danced
to the feel of wet grass, the ever-receding shore and
the residue of wild bodies as they swept through
our skin
Shamans say the heart transcends us,
I thought as you studied them,
the bunny suits, ass cheeks, and other things.
There are days now when I need you more than you need me.
Even in your
small, timeless body
you seemed to understand
his series of modest disclosures
the affection in his gaze,
distant and careful.
you mirroring the depth in the room
me mirroring you
Each observing the other,
speaking
as if whispering were a form of camouflage
and knowing,
an invisible field
between