Boys and Girls
The fan whirs above us,
the moon is full.
We lie atop the white sheets.
She’s still, on her side,
watching the last piece of orange sun
dip into nothingness.
Exhausted body, longer than yesterday,
she’s all scabbed elbows and matted curls.
Earlier today we treaded water in a mountain lake,
flew up and down dusty trails,
she guards castles with her fellow princesses,
dirt smudged on terry cloth capes,
silently sifts and
sorts memories,
new ideas,
so still on her side.
On my left his heart races through his smooth back,
through the crook of my arm, then down to my toes
and still straight to my pulse.
His head flops from side to side
fingers count the sky,
knee in my back
one, then another,
then huge, hard head in my ribs,
flop back, head at my jaw,
flop back.
He is all motion all the time,
has had too much and can’t stop,
the wild uniqueness of the day’s adventures,
stick swords, butterflies,
the July heat.
He can’t bring it down.
The moon rises
a bit higher.
She softly exhales.
His final thrash.
Our breath congruous,
becoming.
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