a tiny window gathers the world echoes morning’s rush of life amazingly, my fingers trace your carved shoulder like they have never known geometry somebody somewhere is getting coffee, walking the dog, dressing for a long day – but not we, whose worlds have just collided under the gaze of a tiny window that no one is looking through because we are beyond...

shadows fall on shadows, aghast at their own darkness times keep falling out of place, surprising themselves, trailing numberless atrocities like the dust of a comet sweeping ominously across a shrouded, weeping planet the forces are arrayed, the engines started words have been spoken, in earnest, in fear, in foreboding the percolating matrix of desire...

down down down inside there is a silent speech you sense it with your fingers as they absent-mindedly clasp the empty space between your palms a holding on to something that never was the words are unlike these, and your eyes cannot fix them into harsh dualities of coincidence cannot shatter their glass frames and spill them into false awakening, for...

my fingers are tapping to an unknown rhythm a sightless pattern just below consciousness feeding somewhere in the background of my eyes it swirls, dives, escalates, tumbles and words - my God, words! appear mysteries profuse my skin invisible knives punctuating reality letting the dreams out all the while tap tap tap   and more: you, unquietly reaching impossibly leeching, receiving  growing dreams of my dreams with another...