some nights, i dream of waking in a cocoon of your sleeping warmth, our listless bodies becoming a hymnal of limbs.  & this is heresy when i want nothing more than to need nothing.  i tried not to adhere to you like breath to a winter morning, but my heart is a betrayal.  we could be a never-ending symphony of skin & sweat & sunshine , the look of you is a country i would like to someday visit.  you are lightning storms in my synapses, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in your wake, the pieces of you i will never erase.  you are everywhere & this is significant enough for me to imagine endless mornings more tangible than any dreamland, or even just one, just to learn if you too taste like yearning.