Like a toe into water
the word pushes onto the page
testing . . . no, that’s not quite right
Paris morning, chill of the starry night
warmed by copper . . . nix
I inhale deeply and shape my mouth to her’s
at right angles, I gently exhale
her cheeks bellow, her eyes open
and our heart begins to beat . . . maybe
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 
Changed the “her” of the last line to “our.” —Chagall
Thank you, C. Much obliged. —Carlos