The Fall

Photo by Uriel Mont

I clutch tightly onto you, 

Fingerprints pressed into flesh. 

My body steadies against yours, 

Cradled by a delicate balance. 

In that space, there’s a disquieting beauty. 

But every so often, 

There’s a tilt, a shift, 

A crumbling of stability.

Balanced, swaying, never quite tipping

there's no foresight of what comes next,

of the direction of the fall,

or who will take the brunt of it,

who will shelter the other from the break.

I linger with you, afraid to move,

Feeling for the ground beneath us,

Not knowing which way it will give.