Elbows on a Mountain

Distance follows,
Like long trails down dead dirt roads,
Obscure avenues where glitter floats, thigh high.

Your hand runs like a kiss,
Known along the back of my neck
Like two black swans, inexorably tied.

In these moments,
When falling seems old like turpentine,
I turn on my sight, instinctual overdrive.

I whistle at shadows, what we call the night.

I prowl like language, shared between pre midnight kisses on porches.

Spoken, hushed, uncrowded
Like elbows on a mountain.