It would be easier
if they made zippers for chests,
he tells me, running his fingers along
the scar, stitched stem to stern
down his torso
like an Amazonian snake.
It kelates, adopts his yoga
to writhe with its own will.
I like watching it move. Sometimes
it’s all I see, as if it is the first born, the host,
and he has merely latched onto its back.
If I soften my gaze, I see it initiate
his movement, his body responding
like kelp drawn across a wave.
It moves, undulates, surrenders,
another expression
of a larger current.
Sometimes, when he allows it,
I reach around from behind,
run my fingers lightly
enough to feel the warp and weft,
reading the Braille of this body.
I do this as quietly as possible,
my fingers listening
to each breath, careful
to let what has been closed
so carefully
to stay
that way.
-Eilish Nagle 2017
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