Maybe my fingers are too cold when I slide them neath your sternum, intent to touch a universe. Far too curious and too bold I reach within your heart, turned numb in favoured self-preservation. The distant stars have all dispersed, replaced by void, their tales, untold; a quiet’s desired outcome. Is peace, as such, blessing or curse; could blindness bring true salvation? I pull back in confusion. Such peace is the heart’s damnation. All but breaks in disillusion.