I play in the crevices that are your face.
I dance in the small arch of your back in and out of the strokes of your tattoo.
I smile into the mirror when I see you.
I am the ache in your neck and shoulders and the hair that stands on end when the song came on. I’m that song too. The vibrations from the speaker, tin-ey or bass-ey, they’re me too.
I travel through the air and dance in Your ear drums and tickle Your memories and I release the endorphins in Your brain that make You smile or cry when You remember his golden curl, on that day when he walked away.
I am the red mud boots on your feet and that splash, and that sound that tickled your eardrum.
I am the little sailboat on the flannel blanket.
I cover your face in public when mother feeds you her breast.
Come dance with me. In the bedroom, or on the bed. Or lets go to a club and pound out some feelings through our heels. The high ones.
I am that piece of skin you bite when what he’s saying, or not saying is driving us mad.
I am the bead of sweat between your breasts when its too hot or just hot enough.
I am his kiss and his scent. I am the color in his eyes. The blue and the outlined darker shade of bluer you fall into, when you muster the courage to look.
I am the tear that is held back and blinked away because sometimes it’s inappropriate to feel publicly.
I am the jump in your heart when the phone rings because she’ll be gone soon but it’s time to sleep.
I am the water.
I kiss your flesh and roll off your nudity when no one is looking.
I revel in being you and adore your giggles and smile and even your hate.
Yes even your hurt too.
I am another you.
I am all of it.
And I am too much to bear so I come and go and wait for you to remember who we really are.
I wait for the beautiful tapestry of nerves to assimilate and handle more and more of what we are.
I am your patience that is met and challenged into more and more strength and effortless flow.
I am the murmur and prayer you moan when you aren’t paying attention and reach out to something you don’t quite yet remember.
I am all that is and everything in between and I see all of it through you.
I am another you. Her. Him.
That puppy and the baby and even the bum with the smell and filth coming from his jeans and and bloodshot eyes that stifle the pain he cannot forget.
The pearls around the trophy wife’s neck.
The gavel in the hand of the judge.
The desk, the paint, the wine opener and the wine.
Here’s to you. Drink me in. I am another you.