Like Janus stepping out of the clouds,
this room is silent. Is there anything
bringing me back to elevation,
or do changes batter me to Earth,
eat up my chest until the moon maligns, “No more!
Ze cannot rise! Rest, my child!”
But I always rest. I’ve slept these half-days.
What I need, my fingers whisper while clutching
eyes and necks,
Is tender kisses on cheeks. Ribbons that wrap ’round
myself and another, and lips that don’t force.