Endless

How it feels to be with her.

Two doors open—
one flat on a sandy hill,
mine beneath a flickering light,
like a dying eye.
We step through,
and the tearing begins—
the skin of the world,
the brittle edge that held us in,
and kept us apart.

It splits,
like muscle unspooling from bone,
the crack of marrow exhaling secrets.
Anxieties vanish in mist,
and the rest of us—
gutted like fruit, peeled from the rind
of what the world demanded we be.
An undoing.
A silent unraveling.

A void with no sky,
no color,
no boundary,
weightless as we do not fall;
we loosen.

Screams transmute—
no longer wavelengths,
but shimmers that flood the void
like breath in lungs never born.

And you—
a shapeless form,
a pulse pulling through verse,
like gravity made of wanting.
We trace. We envelope.

A new language forms—
with no structure to bind us,
we become it.
Our heat, the grammar,
our longing, the imagery.

We swirl.
We fuse.
Edges entangle.
The outlines of you, of me,
no longer distinguishable.

We write ourselves anew—
not as us,
but as a new being,
as light,
illuminous,
and endless.