The little nuance of your fingers, like
Delicate spiders on my palm, tracing whispers like
Hold me tighter
or never let go or other words you'll
Never say. They trickle up like the tinkling of bells,
Silver secrets pure as brass entwined forever in my
Hand.

Forever is fleeting in the shadows, and time is the wink
Of an eye. Who knows how we got here, to this
Open-palm playground, grasping around the monkey
Bars that lead to you. Because in your lips time stands
Still, and into your arms I am pulled as we enter our
Continuum.

In your ethereal voice and I refuse reality, creating my
Own, because how can something so beautiful possibly
Arise in the curve of your palm, in the still of your eyes,
Spontaneously generated fission, of two
Hearts.