the opposite of bending over backwards,
the faith in the luck of the roll of the dice,
the redundancy of ‘please’, because it’s like
‘thank you’ is written across our foreheads
in a language that only we can read.
taking naughty pictures at five in the morning,
brushing teeth in a cold home by candle-light,
whispering secrets that are only secrets with
everybody else because here, in the space
between us, there is no distance at all.