These nights quiver under soundlessness, hear into its stoniness, deconstructed whispers foraging for words that be torrid; wafting into channels of unhearing, unsleeping ears, coming as wispy, white lines in the sleep of my blank mind, in a night of frozen starlight forming rivulets that shape into a you. I obliterate wide awake; the spaces melt into the routine of night - faltering memories’ embrace. Previously published at The Word Couch and Whispers