between skin and skin

I sit here
before the dark skin
of a formless god,
where stars are born,
and they die,
without a hue and cry,
and feel my heart melt
like a lump of sugar,
in the aroma of a brew
that must be sipped
quietly, slowly,

eyes turning
frame by frame,
locked in the beauty
of all they see -
stillness etched
on leaves and reeds,
busy ripples skating
this way and that,
white birds without names,
taking to the dance floor
in the breath of a whisper,
and the tingling pores
of this skin
soaked in one timeless drop
of silence,

where nothing fights
for its place,
where nothing asks
for you to leave or stay,
where nothing speaks
of one language
that must be worn or shed,
or a fierce love
that must be held back
to fill each skin,

where everything
simply rests,
moves and flows,
in the silence
between
skin and skin.