The passage of time loses its meaning, abandons its unit of measure in your company. It lingers, stretching, continuing... the hands of the clock bend into one another like a moebius strip. Time is our vortex, caught in the Charybdis. You drench me in our osmosis exchange. I take you in. My skin drinks your touch. The vibration of your words echoes in the cochlea of my ears. I breathe in your exhalation. My tongue tastes you all along the lines where it travels leaving a flame in its wake. I take all these things. I hold it all in.
It concentrates, locked away, until it is too pointed, a turritella behind my sternum. I release this ribbon, inking it in my helix script. My pen forms the words I can't say.
The paper envisions the dreams I see in your eyes that I dare not. These things dance paso doble in silent paradox on the page. In the dark I burn them, one by one... the flames licking and curling... the heat feels like you. The smoldering ashes are my phoenix in waiting. The smoke spirals up, lofting on the wind.