I stand vertical holding in the air I’ve just inhaled,

here I wait for the exhalation that your touch will bring as

fingertips brush the backs of my heels.

Slowly out of the warmth of my hinges the small of my back

emerges as the ground your feet covet

 

I sink into you,

as you into me

(I am in your hands)

 

Soon my field of vision flows in a backwards incline,

neck draping gingerly as I become buoyant atop your two

sturdy stacked trunks

I allow myself to breathe, coaxing my spine to sink into the ease of an arch

 

As hands find the shallows of my collar bone we sink deeper,

legs seep down with gravity,

we descend deeper as I allow your ever shifting feet to

manipulate my petite frame.

 

This is a permeable game of trust,

the necessity for comfort-ability in the very real possibility of falling

Is here

a loss in grip, in footing, in breath

yet the counterbalance that is achieved sends me to flight

I am a bird

I feel strong

 

The wrought iron hinges of me,

bend to your warm milk of a touch

I meld into your depths,

the creases you create as tension eases all else.