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.
72 Comments
70 more comments...No posts
I searched for the author of that phrase -- it was Wendell Berry - https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-country-of-marriage/ -- and it was the title of a poem.
*le sigh*. Someday, someday. So tender and lovely. I broke my egg. I think I break everything.