When gravity touches me, I exist.I exist
when sand spirals up my spine in circular pleasures
and serenity is security; a queer mirror
built for looking out and looking in.

What is invisible is audible—is fluid.
The nerves that ring are the base; the trouble. They sing
so we don't have to; they play on skin. A scarlet aura, in time, is heard.
Naked by the sea, I understand how storms are settled—how visions are true,
how it flows, how it falls
through my chest—a fluid, energetic motion—
it informs me: the ocean has a floor.

When my lips move to this crushing melody, my hands open,
release the notion that I am alone and this moment is real
the way my skin is real. It gives shape to nourishment;
meaning to depth: a paradox—the eccentric binary of the tide.

Some bodies are not firm but fluid: bodies of water;
my body. Some bodies are not yet: this body; my body.
Some bodies are not clear: deep bodies; murky bodies; my body.

If the sound of breathing keeps me visible in the dark, then who am I to question it?
This body is fluid as a vision and as loud as the ocean
in a teacup; as visible as thunder in a shell.