odd angles

i am at angles, legs akimbo
arms hanging lifelessly
watching towers rise and fall and rise and fall
attached, no
not attached, not remembered for the work underlying all such rises and falls
see the cultured vee shape of my feet at rest and the toes like sentinels waving their ascent to passion

you are at curves
falling always falling away, rolling this way and that
shameless in the flowing flowering loosening restraint of thighs over thighs over pillows drifting always down, water and the moon inventing dance and song at once, as though the silence had never before been broken

we are at odds, the evens left quietly, without ceremony on the mat, the cat batting them down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, into the street for men in suits to stumble over in greed, for little girls to scoop up in their arms like dolls and then lay them carefully in the gutter to sleep

oddly we lay, unevenly pushing or pulling or burrowing deep in the folds
(yes, we are singing, tunelessly, with meaningless words and shapeless gestures;
yes, we are dancing)
and so achingly do we extend our necks and curl our fingers that we unwittingly invent new shapes to hold what cannot be contained
until, both our bodies suddenly agree,
as though by happenstance, a serendipitous turning of the inside out
dying as though all the suns in history had died at once
until, we are no more