i wander to the sharp edges of your jaw, the curve of your lips, the dark depth of your eyes, your eyes the sound of your morning voice i make circles through your mind, wanting to know it’s innermost bits the nooks the crevices the workings that make you
"We love each other like brutes. Gorgeously
and twilled. Any geography is hard. The skin
ends where skin ends.
It’s mapless. I want to be borrowed, to be
assembled, again. To feel a tug on the other
side of the string."
Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.
- Charles Dickens