We lie down, you on my left,
on your scratchy rhythmic blanket
that shakes with the movement
of my fingers twitching across the edge

and my weightless body falling to
the right
you take my hand
colder than february when I first was notified
of your interest

you squeeze with yours
till all the blood comes rushing to
my wrist and it collapses upon your chest

with my eyes, I tickle that one book you've read
with my extensive knowledge of
writers in new york in the spring.

and white petals falling from high
top mountains and twisted skeleton
fingers pointing to the sky


Like outside your window