I have christened the space between our bodies
and the shadow of his form
'our silence', when we come together
and 'our silence' when we do not speak
I cannot touch his habits
but they throw colours on my soul
and I can feel the breeze of his movement
on my forehead
and on my right hand
I've named his voice, and his sleep
and the air between our fingers
when our hands are intertwined
I hum to the tapping of his feet
and hold my breath, playfully,
to the beating of his heart
when I rest my head on his chest
my lover needs no name.
he is too real for words...
