our stuttering lungs
fall short of Breath
fluttering tongues
with bodies pressed

ease in and out
life and death
but where is death?
it's in our hands.

we must be pressing around it
pushing it down
somewhere between us
it is infinitesimal.

grasping to unbutton your jeans,
i am the fingers tearing through the keys

and long shifts at boring jobs
mean red trails on my back

tonight, it is the blood of the first bite that i crave the most.

slipping into you, just through the door
(and i can feel it now)
having broken the code and spoken that language
with my body, from its heart
with my searching fingers

with fluttering music

knowing the great adventure that lives inside you...