(no subject)
Sometimes I can’t meet your eyes anymore because they start to water. I haven’t yet figured out why. Yesterday I couldn’t catch my breath because your fingers slid all of the way up and against the grain and then back again like rivulets all the way down. There has never been a touch like this. Always when you laugh a little bit harder it changes your voice and your face and it is like a wash over my entire body, like a chemical egg was broken over my head and it lightly buzzes as it trickles to my fingertips. Here and now, sitting in your absent-of-you home, you still envelope me like the atmosphere lays over the earth; transparent, and light, and heavy, and complete.