few things make me happier than your head over mine, stretching the limits of what i thought i'd give up to you. protected by the elusive scent of your shirt, like rain & sweat & dirt & ancient perfume. i call you every sweet word under the sky & you return them all, contrasting my voice with yours until the ardent difference is more than apparent. twist myself towards the wall, knowing that a measure of devotion should be found a little deeper than that.

your sandpaper fingertips make a tapestry of colour & sensation, while i insist on feeding you with ink & tea. it's perfect here, away from the storm that never ends, enclosing ourselves in the coolness of the room. maybe it's the way you watch the floor in concentrated thought, or that you could be reciting a shopping list & make it sound like poetry.

i have died somewhere in the space between our eyes, hoping that this hour ends the entire world. reckless feelings find delight only in thoughts such as you.

i have died somewhere in the space between illusion & reality.