Confessions

There is a sound you make when you exhalethrough your nose that contains nine octaves.Your fingers are small animals that burrowinto me and sleep guileless as children.Your tongue once visited me on its own.It arrived with a train-case and a listof demands incongruous with the postureof the fat pink comma on my doorstep.Pound for pound, I’m the strongestmuscle in your body, it announced.But it could not gain any leverage whenI flicked it from the stoop with a broom.Once I reached my opened handinto your chest and was startledto find another hand waiting there.It was the first handshake of my lifethat did not feel contrived.That was when I knew it was possibleto disappear into another like water.