Xylophone Ribs

And when I breathe

in you can play my

xylophone ribs.

I will breathe in, and

I will breathe you in.

Your heartbeat

resonates against

my skin, your

fingers drum on my

palm and the heel of

your hand in my

back pulls my chest

forwards and my

shoulders away; my

head is singing.

Your mouth is an 'o'

when your hands

clap on your cheeks

and then on mine,

blowing trumpeter

raspberries on the

curve of my chin.

We make a good

band, you and I. You

and I and our percussion bodies.