Beneath this silence is another silence— an egg within an egg. Inside our house, inside our bed, we refuse to leave the warmth. The city is so quiet that I can hear your body working. O, your heart and lungs are a gorgeous foundry. Your legs are bare. So are mine. Skin against skin. This is our egg. Our silence. Our sovereignty. Let's sleep for one more hour, entwined and furled. O, my love, let's ignore the world.
Sherman, one wonders how words so intimate and so personal can be so universal. ❤️ 🥚 And yet, they are. They surely are.
Languorous and loving , the privacy of two people enveloped in each other. The external world excluded by a fine strong membrane of embrace and the luxury of sleep shared.