It sits on my bed stand, water emptying eternal as the hands baring the cup which fills & refills the bowl made by loving. Inside

as we melt—– flesh to flesh being the spirit’s most endless zone. How can I be this close without losing myself? Miles of details arrive:

Listen. Rain against mesh, wetness thrumming. Enter the scent of warmth, a shoulder shelter, while, in the distance, conveyed to me you put your head