Part-broken, Part-whole

The sum of my years has been spent knowing your body 
and learning the puzzle of how we fit
and connect into each other. 
The plane of your flank flush with my arm. 
My face flat against your belly like a memory foam pillow. 
The sweep of your back meeting the convex of my front. 
My nose settling into the crevice behind your ear. 
My hand like a snug mitt over the swell of your breast. 
The small of your back is home to my palm. 
Your bent knees are an arrow; a sign to tessellate. 
The single curve of your sleeping form is a light font emboldened when joined by mine. 
My tongue pays the coin slot of your sex. 
Your spine is a harpsichord for my playing fingers. 
My hands are combs for your hair. 
Four ankles knot like yarn. 
Each hand a frame for your shoulder…

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