It was curving, a jaded unfurling of white wings tarnished at the edges.
He said he would never tire of flying,
she said she would always love to feel the wind so.
It was buoyant, she said.
It was gorgeous, how it caught up underneath.

And they fly as though they are lost,
as though the world is disintegrating below.
A touch of hands;
a curl of fingers together and laced.

Don’t lock me down, she said.
Don’t lock me down,
don’t lock me down to anything but you.

She closes her eyes on the street-corner, as the light turns,
whispers sweet words of dewdrops and rainbows in raindrops
and she never remembers to let go of his fingers,
so he gets drug along behind when she lifts her arms.

She spreads her fingers out,
and his are caught in hers,
knuckle against knuckle until the sun shines down,
two, three; and the light turns red again.
She catches vertigo when she opens her eyes,
and falls up against him smiling,
with her eyes lit up in rainclouds and thunderclaps.

Sometimes she wonders what he’s thinking,
brow straight and lips as well;
with his eyes downcast, shaded blinds of lashes caught up.
When he is serious like that,
she must keep her fingers from curling softly up that stubble,
up around his eye and temple and over those lips.

Behind them his teeth line out,
not quite straight but more gorgeous than anything.
When he smiles, she wonders what’s wrong with her chest.
Sometimes she has to look down to see,
for it feels as though birds have rustled their wings,
have fluttered there inside her, have attempted at freedom.

She likes the taste of his skin,
against her tongue and mouth when she kisses him,
the hollow of his throat too gorgeous to leave alone.

His fingers fit in hers,
not because they fit and fit and fit,
but because she loves how he slides them down her arm,
and into her palm, and through her fingers and she loves
closing her eyes and holding tight, so he can’t let go.

Sometimes, he takes her flying.
His wings unfurl beside her, and they rise.
The buildings look so small,
the world so big and yet so unimportant.

He let her fall,
oh, how he let her fall.
He let her fall and fall and fall.

And she fell, her heart spinning.
And he caught her up again, smiling.

It was beautiful, closed eyes and mouths and just curled lips,
turned hips and heads and hearts up to his smile.
He said he would never tire of flying,
and she,
she said to him with her hands caught up behind her;

I, I shall never tire of falling.