I fling the strength stability clings to, tear
at the shape of all that seams, curves, leans.
Trees tease me with light licks of leaves.
But you? You open your sleeves, the legs
of your jeans, let me in and out until
you fall back slack with an emptiness
clean and scented with my entry.
I know you want to be seized, again
and again in the yard, hear my voice whistling
through your puckered button holes,
lifting you onto bended knees. Yet you tremble,
as if Iím too much motion, your blouses blooming
into a bare muscling, your skirts thrashing
with thighless heave. I can only bluster harder,
all atmospheric need, the pressure of pressure
taking what is loose, what is fated
to be wrenched or released
from the tender hinges of its holding,
and for only a moment leave you be
as the sky arches, and with deep breaths pushes
down and through and out my own lack of body.