at the coach station, in leeds

you pull me under
into a sea of existence
where i can breathe
though i know not how.
i can swim and ride
the currents like the wind,
but no-one taught me.
i am floating now,
floating in a foamy fantasy
where instinct rules my movement,
your heat and pulse
teach me to trust;
no voice is in requirement.
the look in your eyes,
it guides me.
your hand brushing mine,
i speak a language
comfortably unfamiliar;
the language of souls
in love entwine.

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