The words I needed
were few.
They would have slipped
from the warm crevices of your lips,
carried by breath,
by tongue,
pressed into mine,
translated
through saliva and silence.
Is it wrong
to feel it unraveling?
It collapses between us
and we…
we do nothing.
I try to speak,
but the words dissolve
mid-throat.
Instead,
I reach for you.
My hand,
a whisper on your neck.
There’s nothing left to say.
It’s all
been translated
before
dopaminepatterns 