There was a dialogue we used to share, there were words we are not allowed anymore. He has hiddens only I know. He has forgotten mine. He does not care to remember the softest stretch of skin. Maybe another—something. There is no visiting time or our stifled vocabularies and I refuse to believe because happens never stops. He is standing in the doorway now or then and I am saying don't. I feel him most in the places he won't touch. Be quiet. I am dreaming.