Capturing Campus: Hummingbird

Hummingbird 

what must it be like to know someone?

not their favorite color or where they went to high school or where they want to retire or how they like their scrambled eggs on any given Sunday

but the texture of their skin

the patterns on their fingertips

born in the womb of their mother

the webbing and weaving 

are they high-strung or laid back?

with skin that sags around soft eyes

and peach fuzz

molded lips that taste of

dark-roasted coffee 

and the beating in their chest like a hummingbird 

when I press my ribs against theirs, my hip bone against theirs

we make a sculpture that breathes and pours

with sweat and some saccharine 

pleasure in the moment 

a pulsing and pressure

the roughness of legs

shaved two days ago

the bowing of their side and the curve of their arms 

bracing and borrowing glances

eyes closed, mouth wide

taking honeysuckle and morning dew

speaking only of cardamom and chamomile

whispering of rapture

to be enchanted in a body

to feel, to know