Languor

Rhapsodical, this music
Of delving headlong
Into the hidden depths
Of you, and me-
Living through this state
Of entangled desires
Laced with molten dreams
Dripping-

Plop!

The ripples grow, seamless,
Dissolving us,
Into a million-pixel portrait.
And the music ebbs away
Pulled under-
As though choking,
Into a breathless rapture.

And as we resurface once again,
Into the placid countenance
Of ourselves-
There seems no haste to chase
The glitter, or swoon to the melody.
Instead, we turn onto our own
Dipping away
Into the comfort of the self.

Yet, in all languor,
This lazy love sustains itself.
And there is nothing
I wish for-
Than, this complacency,
Of knowing-
This is forever to last.