I feel the connection, the vibration through my feet, through the entrance of pores and molded core of my body. Silence creeps welcome to the gateway and I dance slow movement, eyes closed and taken by the holding gaze of the room. I am fragments, bits of flower, earth rock, the rain falling down the window. Peace tips the flavors of my fingers and I relax down into the ligament galleries of stars and cartoon captions. There is color on the insides of my flesh, small cell bubbles of excitement, loose laughter in the collecting and accepting of energy. This body lives within me, not I in this body. Inside, everything empty and yet overflowing with the dream of time and space. I am flurries of snow storm memories, each one never claimed or given. There is a story but to read it is to ruin it, the pages filled with testimony and experience dribbles down my chin. Our hands crossing over, passing through like the woven web of spiders, soft gossimer gobs of tragedy, beautiful and slippery. These threads of veins pump lives, clump us together and feed us into the depths of days but this is not the ending. There is only the space we leave and fill again in another, matter purifying into bulbs of absense. Our entanglement, bodies laced with the warmth of fluid tumbles is only the first level, the centers opening with soft petal textures, this is where we meet.