Wound taut,

like the high

string of a harp,

you ripple

at the thought of touch.

The room itself,

invites whole-bodied wonder,

sound waves wash away the idle

seaweed of passing thought.

Your voice, melody of my death

and resurrection, dances in places

I have to move.

Pleasure floods the moment.

Such alchemy

comfort junkies will never know.

Ecstasy enjoys being a bitch

for the sake of it.

I’m letting the low note drag,

the chronic hum of creation.

You cannot deny

such harmony.

Still, the desire

for noise over this musical silence persists,

a pleasant bypass,

an escape,

an attempt to control fate,

as if external stimulus

can drown the inner ear.

This love,

this messy bliss,

this spilling over

of senses into one another—the point

where streams flow into the same ocean.

I think your thoughts, open my mouth

and hear your voice.

Once song lines merge,

you know the tune by heart.

The music never stops.

We ripple.

~

~

Love elephant and want to go steady?

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Apprentice Editor: Brandie Smith/Editor: Emily Bartran

Photo: Loke Inkid