a bird, you are, a crane- dancer of birds, you are
the bend and shape, the s t  r   e    t c h   e    s your neck makes- you are
all that collapses and alters me. But this is not about me---
                            this is not about how beautiful you are---
a predator can fall in love with (you are) the prey
and when you are captured beneath my hands, I often can't tell
if you are fluttering against them or if I am trembling at the thought
of crushing- you are: carnivore and quarry
                            game and hunter
                                    killer and ****
                                    love and hate, you are, doing things things things so many things, to me
you are, feather falls and grace white tickling the calloused skin stone
  where I ruffle the tufts of your neck, that I long to break---
                                    ---though this isn't true.