I grab your face

I grab your face like you are supposed to look my way. Somewhere between moonlight and a blue light, we are space and satellite. We tug, tuck, and pull. I tangle myself around your waist. I grab your face like you are supposed to look my way.

"Are you being serious?"

Dead serious.
barefoot-in-the-ground
stick-in-the-mud
twigs-in-my-throat
dirt-in-my-mouth
triple-dog-dare-you
kind of serious.

You bend over my backwards. I carve a tent out of you just for me. Yeah, just for me. I burn. Watch me sizzle. I trip on rocks. Covered in moss. Scrape my lip. Just the tip. What sound does a snake make? Sssss.

The hills hug me and say, "Sweetheart, you've already fallen."

Where? Over there? Always here, but never there. Here you go. This is for you. Just for you. You can have my smoke. You can keep my fire.

I grab your face like you are supposed to look my way. I pretend my hands have donated a box of me to you as if you might need me some day. I might tie your eyes into a bow. Sew them onto a dress. Face them upwards for the hell of it. You are stuck with me. I mean, you can stay here.

"Are you being serious?"

You can stay here. But if you stay here, hang from my hips. Hang from my hips like you are supposed to.

You are supposed to.