You painted these exquisite shadows and whispers on the bellyroof of my bendy heart, and the ink's soaked in, but I don't mind because I want to remember it all. I imagine it happens in secret...that there is some tiny huge room where I go to receive the whispers. There I can hear her saying tiny beautiful things, quietly in my ear. When she rustles in my ear, I posses visions of the arcs of empires and the fall of trees, and of how Every shiny fish is floating, floating, and every dark fish is at the bottom, at the bottom of the sea.

And I feel the tiny drops of rain on my face . And these things are so exquisite, they curl up in the air, emerging from her lips and fingertips and they float and form into impossibly intricate shapes that penetrate into me, I have no defenses. They flicker and light up my neurons before exploding gently and showering my heart with sparkles.

And the sparkles feel like hot rain when they touch. They leave spots where they land, and the spots connect into curves and swirls, and ancient paintings and icons of lost gods and they won't come off for all the scrubbing. But I would not dare try to remove them for they are uncommon wisdom and I must cherish them.

for junkpile

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