(The Heaviness Of Being Weightless)

We are the inflatable balloon people
(Breathe into me, I'll breathe into you.)
and my helium body wants to be a static-electric satellite around you.
It wants to swell nervous with uncertainty
and want you scientifically
until my veins are bartering shock waves and energy
for the otherness of your skin.

I want to be breathless over you
-the kind of self-sacrificial action this
Zeppelin bodied girl could never take for granted-
so my exhalation could fill you up until
you realize equality isn't about being even,
it's about taking turns.
(Breathe into me, I'll breathe into you.)

We will have a transparency about our moments,
the clarity of our plasticity keeping us
honest as we float
through the atmosphere of our ability to exist.
Where you will disregard pendulum girls
who swing their walks with switchblade hips
-you've felt their manufactured bones before
and know how their weight can break your wrists.
They're good at paper love and inventing martyrs,
but last night I
named one of my lungs after you
(Breathe into me, I'll breathe into you.)
and the lightness of
your sudden breath inside me
told me I've sinned for less.