baby, turn the light off.
where had i gone when he told me he loved me? because it made me spacious and genuine, smile peeling and relief bathing, whereever i had been in those few seconds of breath on my face. it was everything like being born.
the spaces our voices came together in to swap and unite, over blindness and knowing we had to sleep soon, were calm and forever. conversations spontaneous and lasting through darkness when we had to be up early for work, but we purposely forgot the day and our bodies. we just lay together, talking to the ceiling, putting our sounds out there for response and idea to pick out the weeds. just voices uniting.
i never had such a beautiful sleep as i did after the sun had risen, and i could regard the light hitting his sleeping voice with heavy deep dusty fists.
i get dizzy in silence, popping my ears and blinking to see the light flicker. i want to go back ... whereever i went.
