Vox Sforzando

I murmur like a rivulet through the hitch of your hands, where the canyons carve their parched longing into your fingers— where silences sublimate like cera, pooling beneath your glissando touch. Your tremolo breath convulses rough and low like sibilant submersion in water— spilling, sinking, staining everything it meets. I watch the estuary of your gaze split my horizon— watch you hush abysmal eyes into celestially arched surrender. There is no stillness between starlight, only the pull of mighty magnitudes, fuses lit beneath the ribs, pulses and throbs teaching the air how to cleave—how to… sforzando! Love, here, is neither reserved nor reticent— it is lightning bottled in glass— hellfire burning beneath the tide— language that deconstructs even as it is uttered. I step forward—some faltering cadence, some submitting ascension—placing my hands into your fire, not to be consumed, but to remember how stars revel and rain.