My body talks. Does yours speak the same language?
I tell mine to stay silent just in case.
I do not sit in your chair, or rest my head
on your leg, or let you stroke my hair.
I do not tip my face
onto your cheek:

My flesh stays so quiet.

Yours tries ice breakers.
Mine gives one-word answers
(but with exclamation points).

Ours grow so antsy

up ’til the hour to walk away.
Mine lets it out in a scream called squeezing.
Mine clings on so tight.
This you’ll translate.

You tilt me back, and I lay my cheekbone on your shoulder,
adjust my center to yours,
and stay,

let go, come back,

do it all again,
step forward diagonally, mute my song that plays on repeat,

end their conversation, til next time,
and leave.