Miguel is singing to me and I am wondering if the soft days in his love songs exist. If a moment could be painted in earth tones and eyes meet eyes under the haze of perpetual caress and the words you speak waft around like the melody of communion and bodies are not secrets, rather they are wholly usurped by the idea of together and the food you serve in bed tastes like a warm cradle, a balmy clutch and this day is all days and these enfoldings are all enfoldings and the fullness in the room almost overpowers us and conversation is like an eyes-closed rapture and your eyes your palms your spirit’s house won’t ever be the same and open Open. open Open and never close and open and and never can close.
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