it always starts off legato –

two pianissimo voices coiling in

labored breaths and gentle sounds.

so abruptly you crescendo,

going staccato with your body’s needs,

and I, obliging, pick up the tempo.

we move all allegretto now,

too quick to care

that our cries have become mezzo-forte.

you sforzando into me,

your emphasis sending me

a little too close to fortissimo for my own tastes.

we both reach a grand coda

and collapse,

everything in decrescendo as you hold me,

dolce now that all is done.