Your fringe darkens the light over my eyes. I go under with each kiss, vanish from the surface of myself. I am quiet for both of us. So that listeners will not disturb us by listening. That they won’t knock with questions about our intimate exchanges. Spy on our favourite way of kissing. They linger on the stairwell for an accidental meeting. Their friendship reduces us. They follow me with facts about you, holding up pictures, playing songs in shop doorways. They want to tell me things that I do not know about you, for power, to cast themselves in our story.