Fishes.

I am breathless, the world inside me emptied out.
My skin on yours, speaking, singing, singing. There are mysteries in the way your eyes glow, pale moons in the darkness.
I am breathless.

The emerald of the walls, the turquoise of these old cotton sheets. Like an old, faded sea.

But I can swim. Can you?

The iridescent laugh of these anklets, as they trickle over you. The scent of frangipani. Of sweat. And the stories of our skin.
I let my fingers trail through the dense jungles of you, no longer unexplored by me, no longer unexplored.

My kohl has inked you. Your fingers tangle in my hair and sleep.

I can no longer breathe. I can only dance.