How to understand this microcosm that is another person. With its own arching galaxies, and infinite nightfalls, and flashing suns busily turning hydrogen into helium. With its own inhalations and exhalations (that sometimes match mine.) How to taste the truth hidden inside, like a vial of honey that will never spoil. How to understand this pull from the center, this pull from me to you, that makes me want to smooth the hairs on your belly.
I want to get before myself, turn the lights on and off, on and off, on and off, and look at you.