Inhale

The weight of it all 
skyscrapers that have burnt out their structures 
and mistaken my arched stiff neck 
as something steady to lean on, 

but I am not steady, 
I am the vibration of a string 
minutes after it’s been struck, 
no sound, no purpose, 
but moving still 
as if I always must

he is an exhale 
the wind that whistles
without tangling up my hair in knots,
so I find myself fingers in locks 
creating them once he’s gone. 

and together we are tidal, 
a force that pulls, rises
crashes in on itself, 
but is always able to gather again, 
and settle