Stretches, rolls the pillow. The hands feel the skin that has passed through there. Hungry hands. They smile with pleasure. Leaf through the pictures of the body. Sticky fingers hold back. Moving with the wind of the skin. Sheet we are of time. Hands from other hands. Legs coming from the belly. Bodies of the soul of silence. We are bed of the night. Beds of his memory. Eyelids lying down. Mouths that recover. They haven't left yet. They stay to remember your voice.

Sense, then ex-isto as hypo/thesis.