Yoga with my other half tends to turn sideways
when my concentration is kidnapped by her arched body.
There’s no snapping back to reality
once i’m locked and staring at her “Happy Baby.”
I’m breathing heavy in downward-dog
and bark at her cat call.
She digs deep for the stretch
and i’m trying to make mine less obvious,
because my cobra won’t stay low
when she’s wide-legged and bending forward.
It’s a hinder to go lower and i envy how limber she as she folds.
‘Cause I’m on all fours bearing a puppy’s pose and
wishing to say “hello”
like dogs do with they nose…
Dissect the Dialect 