In the innocence of sweet incense, we spoke by silence.
With our window open to October, it inhaled the neon evening.
Folded together like hands cradling waterβ sipping in the metallic hymn, howling out from passing trains, or even the droning windβs breath, adorned with the cadence of now.
Lingering in the ellipsis of your unyielding eyes, I find myself swallowed by the vines of blue-greenβ found strung-up with their golden roots jetting out of such deep stillness.