“You drift away between these sheets, letting your skin play canvas for the moon’s soft light. Its waves lap at the shores of our bedding, tossing your voice in my ears. Here in night, I collect the words you left in your wake, bobbing, aimless now, around you and I. What you’ve uttered floats amid waves, I make a pile of their debris from where you lie. So fragile are these fragments which I hold, floating in my palm like bottles at sea, and my hand cages those the waves once rolled, though some still wait in your waters’ body. But when your eyelids flutter, new waves send every word slipping from my grasp again.”