He writes love on the bend of my elbow just to touch my skin.
I wanted to tell you that there are moments you could never imagine; they’re beautiful spheres of time, cloudy and creamy like little orange Venuses. How can I talk when my tongue’s so golden?
There is no comparison.
He casts light on my past until the memories burn white; until all that remains of the rocky terrain is a blank canvas. He gives me pens. He tells me create — do not erase. He tells me truth. I turn my hands into oysters and forget the rest; all those people, all those places — I string pearls instead of pain.
It tastes good to kiss him.