On the floor of the Mojave desert,we are barreling through time and space.
In a vacuum,I reach out and grab your hand,I tether myself to you so that I don’t keep floatingendlessly forever.
In between our interlocked fingersand palms pressed tightly together—this is the place where silence lives.
The deep seeded silence, the silence you wear in your bones,the silence in knowing that you’re not alone,the kind of silence that you want to come home to.
My home, herein the blonde hair tussled on your knuckles.You, my quiet.I watch as your eyes growtired, weary, pensive, happy,aroused.Sometimes I get lostin the places that your mind wanders.
Sometimes I watch you when you’re not looking and think “forever.
”Sometimes I imagine your bodyas soft hills that roll uninterrupted through the landscape,sometimes I touch you just to make sure that you really exist.And do you ever.