Movement of Breath

Shadows have voices; I hear them-- in the movement of breath, as it curls under words and sighs. Tongue, tasting the past-- upon the salty flesh of memory, thirstily devouring-- apparitions of self; Mind caught-- amidst the twilight of truth, as it creeps like age upon the ignorance of youth. And I am what once was, conjoined with what is. Twinned refractions-- contorted within the depths of deepest reflection. Until each twisted image welcomes the other, soothed within inner eye's mirrored acceptance...