It’s true–
every instance
I want to jump your bones.
Skeleton dancing
alive with every
touch: hand on
collarbone, fingers
on wrist, lips
on steamed hair
and you tell me
I’m doing that thing
again, calling you pretty
when half your hair’s curly,
the other half straight and
I tell you I mean it
like when I watch you
in the mirror bring hot iron
to hair and I mean it
like when I kiss you
steam leaves our lips,
a collision of curves
into flat plane open
and infinite where
only we exist.

(originally published in The Sunlight Press, 2018)