You tempt me with the words of others while it takes my every effort, every waking moment, to keep my own words from you. You tempt me with the words of others as though they were anything other than a poor substitute for your own tongue and the sound of your voice as it echoes through the chambers of my heart and reverberates beneath my ribs. You make yourself so scarce that I cannot keep from longing and yet you know that I am each instant only an instant away from letting go. Then there would be all of those words that we’d never know. In those spaces I begin to think that what I long for is the quiet of your embrace in a still room, in rooms away from the world, in places where we only know and find one another, again and again, in love.
“Look up in the tree,” you said to me. “It looks like a serpent, doesn’t it?”