Like running, like breathing
These days it feels like breathing, like sleeping, like conversation. Sometimes like running. A reintroduction to my own breath. I know your body’s pleasure better than I know my own. Skin and slip and kiss. A bent over slide, like some ride, you make of me. All the while watching. In the mirror, we perform for the glass, though only I see this scene. That’s you, your licked fingers, making my back arc. A curled-toe shiver. A crying sigh and collapse. Afterwards, we are again separate. Legs wound round, a shared immediate sleep, mammal warmth. Here we are.
Adriana Grant Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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