I've watched and fallen in love, all despair and envy, at how you own your bodies and move inside that pretty skin of yours wherever you go,
from your toes to your scalp, like strutting conquistadors eating mangoes.
You are shining, all long limbed and carelessly clothed, arching that ball and kicking up dust with your ratty old shoes.
And you write
the way you move,
with reckless abandon that makes me sweat and groan and toss up my hands and push away from the paper.
you and your moon,
you and your sidewalk,
you and your bike,
and picking foreign fruit.