The air is heavy with the weight of infinite worlds colliding; dreamt into being by the hushed minds of a world sleeping. Light dissipates along its pooled edges, dissolving as luminous mist into the hungry night. I search for words in the lingering pulses of a heart bruised but still beating. Search for words amidst the fragmented shards of breath gasped and released, in the still capacity of lungs to puncture my fragile messy parts. I search behind my crumbling tendrils of daymind while sleep coyly wraps itself within my vision and come to rest on a bed bereft of needy vowels and sharp consonants.
I have no words for the way your body crests against mine, carried fitfully on the pulling tides of ecstasy. I have no words for the heat of your chest, nor the way it bleeds against the lonely expanse of my back in crimson engulfing waves; I absorb you as though I were cold blooded and you, the sun. I have not words for the way your breath calls me to stillness in great serpentine loops, nor for the softness of my contentment as you settle within my carnal abundance. What words could there be for the whetting of desire that streaks in liquid fire through every longing souled cell?
No, I am too tired for words tonight. So I shall sleep, and create such worlds for us that waking shall only be beginnings of a dream.