When will I not shrink
before the curves of your face?
There is no reason to hide
my own infatuation,
my own fear of falling,
fear of getting up
and going down.

I see
a wind-licked lip to hit,
contours to keep me
on edge as I carve my
own curves on yours;
a soft and secret armor,
your curves, your coverage,
your base.

I see
chutes to take me down,
bumps to send me up,
distant valleys, skies and friends
to go with me to this run’s end.

I see
something I love,
and do not understand.
Futile, perhaps, to the uninitiated;
the soul is freed,
the mind is rested,
the body tired.
There is no futility here.

I see
exhileration in my future,
freedom from anything that
is not here and now.

Freedom
on the snow-capped mountain,
from which I shrink
no more.