The taste and weight
Of salt—
Your salt your weight—
Are in the air
And therefore on my tongue.
I am a kite and there is the sea
Air currents are my breath and pulse
I dance
When you flick your wrist
I respond
To your every whim
I feel
The weight of your desire
The heft of your life
As you tug on the string that threads
Through the air and through me
That makes of my dance and your touch
A dialogue of life in the cold.
I know
The weight and taste
Of this dance
By the salt on my tongue.
You know the dance?
You make it so?
Believe it if you must.
Without me you are a dream.
Without me your touch is nothing.
I am the kite.
The string is mine.

I struggled with the wings theme this week. The closest I could come to wings was a tethered flier. After a good few days in North Carolina, I came up with this, too.

One Single Impression