I.

My fingers trace
the curve of your shoulder,
the length of your
forearm. The line where your ocean meets
my sky.
We are horizontal.
One shift of your body and I am on top
Of a mountain
Gasping from the altitude.
I have never been so high.

II.

Where I stop and you begin

If I don’t teach you

We will be less than one.

III.

You took away my keys

and then you let yourself

Into my home.

Uninvited. Unwelcome.

“Not without an invitation,” I said.

“These boundaries,” you said, “I am agog.”

Yes. These boundaries are mine.

You cannot take them from me.