Congested, a New Intimacy

[makeshift]

Are windows solid?
Drop, glass--
drip like snot
out a curry nostril.
Sag on your weight--don’t shatter.

Could heads be shaped
like greenhouses
instead of hallways?

We know to break space
is to sprint,
to fill it--to speak,
but to navigate?

The passage lengthens;
my lips unknown.
the silence is war
drums tapped by
a thought:
I wanna slip my tongue up your nose.