Long stretches, messy hair we had each other. Just that worn frayed carpet between our bodies and the cold wood floors. Just those two worn quilts, the record player and the slight scratching noise. Petal soft skin that my fingers can feel, then rough. Maybe if you and I lay here long enough we could speak without words. Maybe my deep glances will tell you how I feel. Or the way my hand just twines into yours. Interchangeably staring at each other and the ceiling. The flicker of the bee wax candles. The perfume I dabbed on my neck, the detergent used to clean your shirt. You seem to fill up my eyes when you are in my sight. You fill up my senses.