The cream receiver hisses.
Sometimes she moans
as if from a sadness.

A cat at a terrible distance.
Tonight I am as heavy as
the weight of my body

you were inside. That tough cord
spun between us like a burrowed tunnel
one might shout into.

You were
treading water.
Making fish faces and farting.

The midwife in love with
an arrogant Australian actor
would find your heartbeat

and pass it over to me.
Nothing so much as someone running.
I would lift my shirt

and you would
swim toward the light,
trammel into me.

Don’t you? Before and
before that. We were both part of the sky.

You were the blue molecule and I was.
We zipped about. Hovered.
Hung. Some note we.

Moved in waves we.
Dispersed the things we.
Filtered we. Wawaed.

When you, I did. With you, me also.