I keep returning to nuzzle within the ebb and flow of your rhythm, because that is where I feel the most at home.
For here, I sense there is a light burning below my skin, from within my own stifled stillness.
I smoulder, but, only from the inside. For trapped between this circular room is a place where I bounce off the walls akin to an artful tragedy raging a revolution against itself.
I now know why I am always so cold.