*** is summer lightning,
not a moment of release,
but escape into earth.
Let me bury my thoughts
in your movements,
awkward/copied until I find the pattern.
Practice makes perfect,
and I am the starving artist,
forgetting self when synced,
flesh memory taking over-
Until I’m thrown back,
watching murmurs fall from the lips
of my lover.
Waiting for you
to say the words
that I can’t say,
and repeat them back
to you.