I sailed between your lips and kissed the meteorites glittering down through the atmosphere. By the outermost shores we found a small, green stone.

Around hesitant stars we came up with names for things. It is about. Parts of your dreams fell out between your lips. When you touch me, when our bodies are quite close, we are part of each other. When I think of that place, I think it is beyond everything.

I tell you this, because I was lost in that desert for a longer period of time. Sometimes a couple in love will come across each other and shrug their shoulders at the mind of the sun.

We thought of old fossils, raw thoughts of silence. You wrote a sentence on my skin to help me see through your eyes. I was in your body, and you? Out in the light of the LED night I found a pile of sticks (lol). Notes. Descriptions.

As I lay there and listened, I became afraid of losing you. This is how my nights sailed. Wind, drag me with you across the plains, drag me all the way down to the cliffs.

In my first App, I awoke and placed a light in your smile. There was something that opened up. We thought of old fossils, raw thoughts of silence. The indecision of the sentence: The blue flashes of the emergency lights no longer worried me.

At the time you were still a part of the slow, black beings of the mountains against the desperately fragile silence of the night. Everything behind everything. For every layer of meaning in the stones. Stuff like that. I wrote nothing down in that period.

The forest turns into clearing and water. Of other cities, other worlds. Through the hole in my brain.

I wrote letters to you in my thoughts and followed the movements of the road along the coast and the sea, hesitatingly. Grey.

The books rested around the coffee.

The cloud hid something from the birds. This is how you answered. We thought of contexts of natural phenomena: The quivering of northern lights in your voice; glittering secrets inside the stones, inside the Earth, inside each other. Sometimes a couple in love will come across each other and shrug their shoulders at the mind of the sun.

A shy room, an intimate room. I could not forget what should be forgotten. Out in the brightness of day, I found a handful of glittering, glittering diamonds. I try to draw your radiant eyes in my sentences. And we awoke. The spaces of words are undoubtedly what is most important. Did I drag the outermost? The techno of the northern lights, you sing, is the foreign language. The ideal, whispers the quiet wind, is not necessarily the trimmed trees, the tightly composed book.

When I said your name, all I heard was the quiet whisper through the sand. The light followed the shadows and found reflection in the flagstones, the windows, the darkness.

I could not phrase those sentences.

We thought of contexts of natural phenomena: The quivering of northern lights in your voice; glittering secrets inside the stones, inside the Earth, inside each other. The lights lighted.

Star continent. Incomprehensible sentences to dress up in. The air and the songs of the Earth. It is every single rock in my heart, slowly but inevitably turning into stars and sparkling diamonds. A line threatened to intervene in my thoughts, to seduce my thoughts, terrify my thoughts. The ladder up to the sentence: I was the one who called the police. They turn away from the outer mountains and return to the luminous houses, the noise and their own weird bodies. We thought about words we could not forget.

Parts of your reality slid in between my lips. Afterwards I spent hours reading. Was the wind really blowing? I sat and listened to the blue, blue sky, the laundry and the pigeons, seagulls, swallows (were they really swallows?). In the sunlight we quiver like something resembling a precious stone resembling a glittering from the depths of the earth. About the transformation of the landscape and the white sky and the sea’s tints of grey. I wrote myself into a frenzy back then.

Sentences are an ocean. I’ve stalled on the threshold of the day. Glass millions of years old in the luminous desert.

The sentence that fell from your mouth just now. You wrote a sentence on my skin to help me see through your eyes.

It doesn’t matter. I found a line somewhere under my bookcase. It was before the diamonds, even before the movement of my fingers through shadows, through hair, through town plan after town plan.