your words travel with the speed of light through my layers and in the resonant networks until they reach the limit of visibility inside my mind
your voice stirs the waters, your pixelated silence crashes the miscalculations of hope
a heated tension is dissolving the stillnes of hours
I dance myself into oblivion and Rosa Damask is to blame
No, I whisper to our autumnal silhouettes, to the spring of words:
what if your skin
would be the whole world
to me