I feel like my head is expanding

I want to talk to you about your vowels
and how I want them spoken to my chest
directly from your mouth: warm air.
You might get looped into forgiving yourself.
Your back might get strained in the wild force
of your heaving. Your days are no longer leaden
and fatigued. You mount a stallion and feel the spurs
under your new jacket. Dawn sprays gunky light
into the courtyard and then it sparkles puppy yellow
and personalized, briefly. I manipulate space
to help the earth roll over or around. By running
faster I make it revolve slower. Slowing time.
I will visit the weather with bare legs and think
of you as I peer over the river to Manhattan. Remember
how you sped along, happy at the thought,
possibly so? See that brazen silver building flash
dawn's light over to Brooklyn? I am scooping
all of this up and handing it to you.