Stop. Become fluid.
Flow from your body to elicit a secret congress.
Drip away from your eyes
and fill the outline of my vacancy.
Meet me as I was and sleep
that peace in the warmth I
bore but no longer occupy.

And I will stop. Become gas
and seep unnoticed from too, too
solid wakefulness.
To the darkest corner of the
night sky and the brightest
glint of heat between particles.
So that you can touch naught
but my outline.
And feel but the passing breadth
of my hot breath.