(Our Algebra)

I live for hours as a cathedral when
you breathe your confessions into my skin until
they fill me up and I become a sin balloon
when you wrap your fingers around my ankle until we are one
and my kneecaps are your knuckles
and we rise up into everything that used to be above us but
isn't anymore.
That's when I opened our mouth
and the sun ate our words
until our tongue was so empty it would never speak again
leaving us with nothing to do but
fall back down into life and onto the handles
of your bicycle where I used to sit
and you would ride when we were two and you
were sweet on this quiet-eyed girl who
you would peddle home to lay in bed with
and hold your fingertips against
hoping I might grow into you and your pale skin.