You always told me
that you liked me best when
I was on top of you,
even if my clothes were on.
You said you liked the feeling
of my full body weight, all
of my curves pressing into all
of yours. I never understood
why – we couldn’t see much
of each other for being so
close, and neither of us could
breathe very well. But then
I asked to feel what you feel,
and I understood. You sunk
into me and fit me, as if
your lines were molded to fit
mine. We became one
when you were on top, and
I felt as if the pressure on
my lungs was from you trying
to break through my skin and
make us the same.

My breath was your breath
when you collapsed into me.