when i was young, i learned the names of human bones. i could take you apart in pieces and reassemble the etymology of your body. they taught me the names for hollows and curves, the ridged edges of each vertebrae, the interlocking framework of our fingers. but we lie in the dark together and i think of empty classrooms. nothing explains this- no textbook revision, no structured syllabus. my education fails me; you are made of magnets. graceful implied lines that draw tension, pulling me into orbit. angles i can't calculate, reversal of gravity beneath my hands. you teach me muscle memory in seven minutes, carve new paths across my sternum. and i am earthbound, free-falling, writing every fucking night.