Quiet quivers

Nighttime and the cubist heart begins melting floors to form them into ceilings of a numbed soul, bottomless in its endeavours to pull down curtains instead; empty sheets that I drape myself in, needing instead to swaddle among the pulsating warmth of hulking weight that near lived within my core for a momentary moan, which exudes still, silently during invisible seconds of obscured twinkles flashing in momentous fluctuations palpitating from nerves to cell.