I let the moment devour me whole, eat me alive, and feed on whatever good is left in my flesh and bones.
I see you— eyes closed, smile so fragile and pure, quivering, jumping from shape to shape.
Your little fingers involuntarily scratch the back of my leg, trembling in a vulnerability so raw that I’m immediately not the same.
In the deep calm of the eye of our storm, we partially melt into each other, in a primordial soup of carbon and possibility. I shape my hands like a bowl to carry it outside, and so it goes, for some time.
I keep it safe and warm in my memory like a mother bird does with her precious eggs, which keep the suspense of life
alive.