arc and return

Your legs remain the same, mouth open more edges, things change and stay. Sinking felt between third and fourth ribs. Your hand on the chain of my swing. Later, pushed back on the mattress. You ring as sound, you shunt under sheet, air on sweat, gasps and puddle, your legs itch where they bit you, our mouths keeping busy, an imitation of before, lime leaves on the kitchen counter, wet with wringing, we run water, salt, rung breath, run amok, flung stone on stones, a question of bad timing and falling in the blanks. Details flood back. You look for your shorts, your shirt.