Balance Poem, by N. Christine, at My poetic side

I remember a girl
platform sandals wooing the balcony beam,
wine bottles tumbling like offerings
to the gravity of a Silver Lake bungalow.

Then, masculine arms, reaching,
pulling
a roller-coaster free fall crashing
into leather and sweat,
beer-breath pressed against painted lips.

“I like the fall,” she said,
leaning, arched back, hair drifting in the breeze.
“I can’t always catch you.”
Leather creaks.
Pulling.

I don’t fall
when you’re gone.

Balance