My lungs and my mouth and my hands and my face
Pull on the purple balloon,
Inhaling.
I am under the canopy drawn from our childhood comforters
Alongside this open fire, too free and feral,
And resting myself atop our melty hands and melty feet.
I suck in the purple balloon because God is moving too fast down here,
Under these blankets and in view of our family’s portrait hanging,
Posed as adjacent honor.
I drew in our balloon through my belly
Because of the boyish smirk in your eyes
And the muscles that were dancing shadows up your back.
I breathed in my purple balloon, and it’s running green and orange and blue.
I felt my T-shirt fold yours up like an accordion,
Playing the skin closing our chests and stomachs.
Finally, we suffocate.
We were breathing deep under a pillow fort,
And I toyed with my copper-toned hair.