Sometimes in the morning

Sometimes in the morning you wake up early to meet a friend who you have not seen for a while and she is so alive your entire self thrills with her laughter. You share stories and you talk about wanting, about voicing, about structures, the models that hold us, the definitions that set the size of who we can be, you tell her about the decaying wall of flesh and bones that is expectations, the expectations you plaster yourself face-first against like a sordid offering and then she scoops her hand against the wall of the cafe, her hand curved and curled in understanding. She shows it to you,her handful, its grossness, the drip and the muck,and you laugh and you laugh — words turned into body.