IDeviant

He sleeps the sleep of a man who doesn't yet know that Love sits sewing her shadow to the dawn, nursing a subtle, aching silence in his lungs with her name, her shape. He can't fathom how someone can sit so deep inside him, shelling the shadows of himself as though there are moons at their core, how he no longer believes in falling lightly in love but in committing himself to inevitable call of concrete or how she lingers like ink on his fingers, like a story he's still figuring out how to write.