Like a Sunday morning your smile respirate a galaxy of warmest color that sheets a tangled weave of letters, that i replay in my head, somnolently in late night;smiling, it creates a sandstorm- tempest of the binding whispers of the moment when our eyes used to meet, folding me into a jungle of minutes for bewildered reactions of blink slanted sight, and then again rising like repetition, like respiration with concertina tapping back to chests, bolting out my lungs, like an asphyxiant in sweet favors whisper with glorious release in the pleasure of your grip.