6/7

He whispers for me,

from the echoes, this voice that wishes to be free.

Such a sweet melody, a song I think I have heard before,

somewhere lost in the cotton memories of the forgotten child.

A warmth crawls up my skin, to an end where memory begins.

Into the spaces between the dreams, the system behind this scene of still faces; still places.

A face among the words only lovers share on faded mornings, with faint murmurs of the flesh, a face this shrouded eye longs to see.

What is this echo?

What is this dream?

Why does he call for me?

Is it just foreplay to say no?

Or is this the path from 6 to Seven…..