Still, we lie still,
amidst all imagined grandeur
we’ve had no hand in.

Rife with finest needs —
to ponder, to practice, and to play — ripe
to the bursting;
struck beneath ungovernable ceilings
of life’s desires, of freedoms to choose.

For us, choice is now, and forever,
and partly mine.
      I whisper, utter abandon:
Clasp me close, then clasp me close —
my speech in embraces,
my lips on her soul.

Between the palpitations of two lives,
just now, now:

I long for a love like family.
I long for a peace like soliloquy.