Heels Over Head.

How my heels touch my head--

Searching arms reach out towards infinity,
and into a crack of seeping light
and a peek of hope.
Two twining grains of wheat
interlocked, forming, close—a strand of hair
dangling from a hand reveals the unseen,
with a shrouded kiss in a corner,
crinkling up by the cracked lips and
cracked open lids--
soft, gentle, push against and head back,
“more” and laughter we release.
Like wine in our vains, humming soundless
tunes in the living room and rug-burn,
white fuzz between our nails and the protruding
spine of my back.
Bumped noses and brown on blue
stifles a lift on the side of our mouths,
of rambling around in circles,
twirling skirt and swirling waves
that touch the side of your face.
You and you and you—pointed finger
and teased teeth white—my heels touch my head.