it was something about the bounce in my step,
in the rippling jiggle of my belly & breasts,
something about the periwinkle painted pinkies,
the purple pointers, the chipping its own kind
of fashioning, something about the bend
of the wrist, of the flick, about the way it shares
the blunt, something about passing, breaths
falsetto’d, about the difficulty of altitudes—
& maybe less how & why, more when & where—
all of the comings in & out, something about pride
with a sibling fear of my own body, someone
checking the clock, how a sentence shivers,
something about my sentient shivering, everything
about how i’m too sensitive sometimes, too
sensual, something suspect & censured,
something to do with attunement, with pulses
in the blood, something about water & thickness
& viscosity, something more like nectar, yeah,
like golden honey, like golden bees & their buzzing
geographies—the gut brain in the hive mind,
something closer to how land shifts & water waves & waves,
something like the supple becoming of flora & fungi, then,
of drifting pollen, yeah, reaching closer to something
in how limbs can reach & how nails reach in that reach
like a camera eye zooming in, out, in, all a single take