the weight

Red orange draping softly onto skin with a song you sent in the background. Eyes subdued, the outdoors humming. We are in here. The music slows and I click again. So simple to climb inside and yet, so far apart it seems when returning. Each time this happens, I am different for days. How unsafe it seems. Holding the hands of your presence in the dark. Captured and turning around and around. We go. The light is different in every room and so close the shadows seem we run. Please please me. Bring me closer to your head.

Our voices on the telephone. Speaking volumes above the sound of why and what now. I cannot decipher it all on my own, but postponing allows it away. "Silently" over and over again. "Your heart is beating tum tum tum tum." The things I say split in half. Back and forth, but always forward. "Your clock is ticking tick tack tick tack." I want to be buried inside you. Face sticking delicately to your chest, dewy, soft and raising falling in rhythm. I imagine, with images from deep within, curled up in fetal position, tiny, resting inside your shoulder. The heartbeat thudding in time to something far away. A drum measuring out the feeling I nestled within, safely hidden from view, but as I live inside you, the feeling palpitates into the very ends of your fingers. You know. You must.