whenever the silences fall on our supple bodies, it is as if we are strangers.
now that i am coming home to you, the memories make the evenings longer, stretching them to their capacities.
when we are lulled out in the surge of the next moment, our eyes pull us back to each other's arms as we struggle to make collision. whenever a bendable luminary lifts to light your face in utter calmness, many stories ache to be told and now, once more,
i hurry home to the warmth of your hearth, tender with the conflagrations of my heart's tillage and all the aggregations and their accompanying pains,
i have voluminous stories to still in your ears. these intimate susurrations.