the stillness this morning is beautiful. i drop my anchor inside it.

i stumble about in the dark. my bare feet touch the ice cold floor. my naked body brushes the surface of a hard, unyielding wall. my knees wrap around a sharp edge of concrete. a right angle settles between my breasts. a jagged hardness nestles between my legs. coolness parts the lips between my thighs. a clock ticks in the kitchen. in the living room. in the dining room. in the bedroom. i hear the asynchronous passing of time. i smell oranges ripening on a countertop. i smell roses decaying in a vase. a breath pauses in the bedroom. my uncertain fingers grasp the stuccoed wall. my startled shoulders freeze in mid-curl. i wait. i wait. i hear the bed creek, the breath resume. my fingers loosen. my shoulders fall. i lick my teeth. i suck my lips. my anchor trembles. my arrhythmic heart beats inside my chest. i shut my eyes for more darkness. stars shimmer inside my eyelids. fireworks explode inside my body. i dig my anchor deeper into this paradoxical stillness.

there is something to blindness. there is something to loss.

there is something felt. there is something found.