The Tip of His Words

All is quiet—

in the valley that deepens,

until he puts a finger on her mind,

causing an influx of drips.

A moisture that is loud 

to the cognitives of 

what he calls pleasurable rifts.

The way they slip 

over the tip of his words 

is like a blanket of sensation— 

he’s becoming.

Humming into vibrations,

they drift and slide, 

plummeting—

into a depth they can’t seem 

to resurface from.

—JG  ©2026