my body can withstand
an earthquake
if it is your ribs
that cage its
epicenter

my bones might
crack like your laughter

my eyes will turn
into whirlpools
muddied by four
letter words
spat from your tongue

my spine might recoil
bending away,
yet unable
to distance my mouth
enough to
save it from being
filled
by the aftertaste of your
doubt

i could lick the tip of
my finger,
slip it between your ribs
trace the elastic curve of bone
swirl through your catching breath
and eclipse
your quake

but my body
can withstand it
so i refrain

you are torn as you rain
tortured as you thunder
turning into a torrential
drumming on the skin
of my soles

my finger hovers now
tasting your wind
for a change in direction
but you
you are steadfast
like a hot needle sliding
into cold flesh

i say i can withstand it
but as you uncoil
i shift in my soil
and turn into a tremor
that turns into a quake
that erupts as a tree
which explodes into a flower
unfurling its tongue into
your epicenter
where another earthquake
slithers viciously awake
and asks me if i
would tell it a sweet lie
to satisfy it.