In Brittany's own words, this is a "dumb poem I wrote about making whoopie."
Querer
Arch up and roll.
It’s two parts lighting
and as many parts touch
as the two parts call for.
Sounds caught turn into warm
to stick, peach body, home.
Sweet clock-stop, sweet thumb-neck, sweet lips-jaw
to
hands on books
on
back
on
ethereal planes.
Trapeze mouth drop, and I
snap down
the middle.
I twist mid-air.
I’m up, and you’re up, and we’re, we are, spinning.
Pool.
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