Echoes of silence rippling through our veins;
The weight of the evening is shifting
From unseen words, lonely phrases
To midnight's twinkle and altruistic gazes.

You become my buoyant hammock,
With the surrender of sound,
My Maupassant,
But I am not found.

As you enfold me with one leg,
I am your darkroom so bright.
Gentle ticking,
Clockwork through the night.

As we bathe in the muteness of the hour,
I can hear your heart slowly beating
As I listen to our souls' casual meeting.