It starts in a rush, the low thrum of vocal reconnaissance. It carries along the skin, stands the hairs on end. Such a simple thing, this rumble of words. They reverberate deep in your chest, catch in your throat. Live in my ears. All the things you have to say fumbling over me in tidal waves. Trapped and wrapped in vulnerability, this sound penetrates all defenses. It’s welcomed to the core. Changing integral parts of me, these spider fingers of filigree wander old corridors, tickle bones, wrestle muscles and sinew to life. Everything sings because your voice rains down gold.