And while our hands touched and while our knees touched and while I pushed on with my version of the ocean breath (ever the problematic colors!) and then you said what today I do not even remember but that we laughed and then we laughed again, and do not be sad but I can not remember the last time I laughed so loudly so easily. I can not remember even the last time I laughed.
So I am no fool: a man who does not laugh is a very sad man. But there is another explanation and I choose it: a man is wise to not spill his laughter everywhere but to save it for where it will echo, for when it will ring loudly in his ears days later like an ocean shell. And when you vibrated me, when you moaned weeped pleaded into the darkness of my forever quiet, when you commanded in your voice primal and then you laid hands on me to insist, well, I am laughing with that now as if you were here making this room vibrate, spinning me, and then of course, yes: touching hands, touching knees, again touching voices.
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