this feeling
new, but not exactly sudden
informs each of my movements
(attempting to carve out a little space for myself
and the You I carry with me in the air)
the broadened sway of my hips
and the arc of my arm, grasping at the itch
between my shoulder blades--
the new easiness of my smile, at
strangers, dogs, the lampposts dogs know well, kites, and shapes
in clouds (slowly fading into the ether, trailing behind them all the world's lost thoughts and unremembered dreams of the day before--)
each moment in my too-long/too-short days
remembers your thick, calloused hands and the shocking
softness of your lips
you must understand, it is entirely
your fault--
this becoming, undoing, floating or whatever
the post-coital strut that will not leave my step
that I can't focus on anything at all for more than about
two and a half minutes,
my propensity to touch my own breasts
when I hope no one is looking
this air of you
coursing through my veins
the rest running through my body--
and in my walk,
the quiet pulse between each shifting of my feet--
I love you, I love you, I love you.
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