If we hedge along the deferential maybe,
the suspension of a bridge,
this length of edge,
we still move.
If in broken tones we huff and puff,
harmonizing to a shriek,
or mouthing ouch,
we still talk.
If sometimes we stare in opposite
directions, cheek to cheek
like half-clad duelists,
we still touch.
And if we, the still pronoun of you & me,
parallel a move, a touch, a talk,
if we still do this at least,
we still love.
