The details. A gesture, hands making shapes while thinking. The vibration of the furnace under my feet. The wind of breath on the edges of nostril, cold breezes prickling skin and sending hair to attention. The height of a voice and then bubbling laughter, liquid noise that blooms into silence. The corduroy on a couch that holds body after body without expecting anything. Sweet flavor on a bitter tongue. Getting lost in a cough and then appreciating the calm collect of a smooth throat. Beats on the radio, not paying attention to the lyrics but feeling the twisting glades of harmony move me. The balancing act of walking, one foot in front of the other, pounding pavement with awareness. Limbs waking after being asleep, pins and needles swarming, splitting the surface and penetrating flesh until feeling returns. The tenderness of a bruise and the beauty of blood close enough to see, veins that remind me of the underworld. Slippery fruit that elludes the teeth and aims for swallowing, juices running and catching taste buds, and closing the eyes to enjoy it more. Being cold on the outside and warm inside, concentrating on the barrier between, how I carry summer around in my skin. The vitality of screaming, rawness and release, without a care about how it sounds, only the peeling out of anguish and watching it dissipate into blue sky.