Between your breath in my hair the weaving of sunlight by the window, the sky’s audacity to resemble that of a painted sorcery violin legs intertwined— darling, i am undone. Stay. Blow a gentle kiss on my skin, but forget, I shall not, that this all but a dream. Let me lament a morning dressed in apology. Let me toss and turn to a quiet soliloquy. What is there to grip but a ghost molded by the loneliness of the night. What’s it like to be the lonely? What’s it like to be the night?