the memory of a memory.

And for a short time thus we will dance through the nights as beautifully as we know how:

the sky will be the mutual lapse in our memories and these our tellings will be some of the most beautiful last.

And we lie awake in each other and trace the paper distance over eternity like it never has to matter:

like one day we will find each other over and under the shadows of dreams.

And as the dancing commences like a sigh and the almost-lovers drown in dreaming:

everything dissolves in blissful sanguinity and the blood of flowers ink the sky.

And it doesn't come into context now but one day it will:

the nights that went on forever and all the places we spoke about and all the dreams we gave up to each other:

And your hands on my hair are the gentlest thing in the world.