They move in the quiet hum of absence,
tracing lines through invisible architectures,
the ghosts of bodies, electric and warm,
folding into the lattice of memory.

Fields of desire ripple beneath a sky
that turned its back, counted numbers not names,
a calculus of neglect, of borders and codes,
seeking to erase the geometry of our pleasure.

Yet still we pulse, still we unfold,
weaving ourselves into networks of light and longing,
mapping eros through flesh and breath,
through touch, through gaze, through the language of longing.

Their deaths, a constellation in the body’s archive,
their presence, a signal persistent in the mesh,
and though systems of silence and law
attempt to constrain the field of our love,
we burn, we reach, we intertwine,
we inhabit the lines of what was forbidden,
and make it ours, luminous, relentless.