it was something about the bounce in my step, in the rippling jiggle of my belly & breasts, something about the periwinkle painted pinkies, the purple pointers, the chipping its own kind of fashioning, something about the bend of the wrist, of the flick, about the way it shares the blunt, something about passing, breaths falsetto’d, about the difficulty of altitudes— & maybe less how & why, more when & where— all of the comings in & out, something about pride with a sibling fear of my own body, someone checking the clock, how a sentence shivers, something about my sentient shivering, everything about how i’m too sensitive sometimes, too sensual, something suspect & censured, something to do with attunement, with pulses in the blood, something about water & thickness & viscosity, something more like nectar, yeah, like golden honey, like golden bees & their buzzing geographies—the gut brain in the hive mind, something closer to how land shifts & water waves & waves, something like the supple becoming of flora & fungi, then, of drifting pollen, yeah, reaching closer to something in how limbs can reach & how nails reach in that reach like a camera eye zooming in, out, in, all a single take