Almost

Harken back to ancient summers the sinuous tapering of your earlobe dwelled in the parallel edges of my teeth. There, amidst down and linens, I ached to say something but my awkward words sunk, eclipsed by froths of your weightless titters. Those words never floated since, wisely opting to colonize the obscure spaces of Never Been Said. I lacked of something clever to say; they were of no credence or consequence—nothing but jumbles of a cancelled declarative that have lost its peal: You made me grasp the exhilaration of Soumchi. Oh, the elation! Of writing the alphabets of your name! On a lake in a sink! To cup them into a pool in my hands and splash it upon my face! Pedalling downhill on a bike, muttering your name, my heartbeat racing with the wind!