five touching three. in moving and feeling.

slender tendrils sashaying
grazing napes and necks and
stutter
reeling, path retracing,
discretion, discretion
a breath.
a blink.
pop those weary bones,
chuckle softly to yourself, kid.
you got this.
a trumpet blasts,
gunfire and turmoil in your line of sight,
and the tendrils unfurl again,
but less prickly,
five little cat tails,
sliding into place around their owner,
the gentle push of your hand,
and her head finally meets your shoulder,
and for a second,
this movie is alright.