I. Invocation
“The certainty of waking in your eyes, you in mine; the quiet drifting in and out of each other’s sleep, this calm;
these mornings—count them— when snowfall hushes the outside and the bed is our only country.”
-Imitiaz Dharker, To Have All This-
The light begins at your throat. I press my mouth to the pulse, a syllable before sound, a soft theology. You look at me as though reading a forgotten text, some scripture of skin, warmth. We are not lovers here—we are hypotheses, tested against the mercy of touch...
















