It’s easier to rock backwards than forwards; the push comes faster than the pull. My thighs quake as I strain, and for a moment, I’m holding up a hundred pounds of wood. I want to repeat this moment of perfect balance; I want moving furniture to come with the rhythm of sex. I want the crack of our bones when we come together to be the sound that formed the universe. I want the crack between our bodies to be an infinitesimal quark.