your arm moved—
a glitter of small hinges.
Or was it your leg,
its calculated unwinding?

I was asleep, say,
or lost in thought.
I heard your blood
though, how it sang,

and I felt your cloud shadow
coming, crossing my face.
I looked—
you were full of yourself

dancing. I looked—
you were the waterfall of yourself
dancing. I looked—
your breath drank my eyes.

I listened – your feet drummed
shut my ears. I groped,
but your skin turned fingers
to spider webs.
                     Sometime,
out of the dark of my body,
I spoke.