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 I’m 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.