Your Language

In what language do you speak? Piercing like this to my depths; until my dreams are built naked in your arms with all my being in the bed of night. Where do your words come from? So flowing, alive on the faint line of your smile, and so melodious in the orange veil of tears over your eyes: bead by bead these tears, strung together, are the circle of a necklace precious and dear around my neck, speaking to me — without distance — without the violent sound of the words of parting — parting from each other — all my atoms have given ear to you, to your sweet words, and you wander in me with all your being, so full of caresses, full of tenderness, blended with my very essence, behind this veil: this dusty one, torn to shreds by silence...