In a moment I will make coffee

He's still here. Supine. Wondering what it is that I am doing with the non-click click on the square pads over here on the other side of the bed while his eyelids echo internal tides. Showering the words came back. He chased them away, all of them but not like Benito, not like I was standing on the street with extra shoes tied tight around my tongue.

There was no fig sorbet but I do not mind. Words were ushered into small black velvet bags and tucked into spaces inaccessible and calm. Three hours and not one sentence formed. I trailed my fingers through floating acres of exclamation marks. His right hand circles my left ankle.