Our love took place in silence, beneath the veil of uttering, in rooms unfurnished. It did not feed on the touch of skin, nor brightly burn with the fire of clutching mouths. It did not bloom as flowers, it did not wear the ring. There was no need of song, for we danced between the notes. Even sight did not behold, as neither light nor shadow fell; and our hands were left with nothing to hold; formless was our love. Known only by surrender. For our love was born in spaces, empty of everything but itself.