We slip together,
sliding easily into glass
and softness
and no one knows we’re here.

We can fall and be silent
and find music in the sunrise
and still it’s our silence,
our music.

At dusk we live in the clouds.

Silk touches us,
binds us
holds us.

We are ourselves
and alone
and each others’.

Your lips on my neck,
shaped in glass.

Silk of your hair
and my skin.

You are mine,
in the clouds,
and our silence is our own.