sun pushes against lids
like liquid palms
only orange & dry
without pressure but heavy
as a headache
warmth           but as it cools
it pulls the car maybe into like collision
maybe around like another planet

or I am a dancer & it is my partner
& I
being blind & headspun
can only drift at his direction
hoping
it is his arms that lift me
into held breath
high over other dancers
who watch   handsovermouths

high over my mother
who knits brows in scold or confusion

father who stares into his empty drink glass & wonders
if it is too soon
to flag a waitress

sister who would have always known

I pray

it is a man’s doing
that gifts me flight

.                                                    not cliff’s edge

-Corey Angel