my body is slightly
awkward and awestruck
by you, even when you fall, silent.

limbs are tricky and
angular, mathematical
equations in a movement
but this was never covered
in class, this tipping point,
this salty breathed rookery
‘neath our fingers twining.

you’ve played this game,
this melding of mouths
in spades, a rhythmic
cello-grace. you, now,

and if the world spoke
old english, thou and me
would float the seven seas
and never raise the sails an inch,
wooden bellies worn by waves.