by the tips of my fingers and squared edge of your thumb,
hairs matt and clipped
through torn tracks in my elbows and knees, freshly formed and reformed.
The new flesh unfurls and smiles away,
reveals a mouth of rose and scarlet
soft, slick to the air and quiet, not screaming.
Listening, receiving, from its place of exposure.
Hands feeling their way through heavy curtain.
We wait, pausing in breath
as connective tissues startle into profound motion –
a multitude of nebulous crashing consciousness.
You fall and wrap the length of your arms around my waist, hurtling us both towards and almost nothingness. A floor between floors, without clear lines or staked edges. We tumble and roll in infant togetherness, clinging to the confidence of gravity, to the squeeze and drum of hearts under dimmed red.