• We live in the cracked, dusty edges of
    language, spoken by breath connected lips that equal
    thoughts. Take my words, you need them more as
    I'm resigned to knowing the best I can give you is the sound of me not
    breathing when you get too close and ask if we can just exist and I
    freeze because I'm afraid that I can't even do that
    correctly. So we talk - without words and transcend
    the wall of speak and then listen. Your
    thoughts echo in the beat of your
    heart and I wish mine
    weren't so honest that every time you lay your
    head on my chest my pulse bombards you like a
    four year old asking questions about
    the world like
    Why is it that you do this to me and when did my lungs stop filling with air and how come the sky looks so much better reflected in your eyes and it feels so nice to be sitting with you that I almost think moving would turn into a sin and I'm sure I'm an atheist so I want to know how you've suddenly taught me to
    pray.