I wonder if she notices,
In certain times when darkness softens
And the hard edges of silence
Turn our whispers crystalline
When she curls my body
Into the silk parenthesis of her arms
Laying tiny rivers of breath on my skin,
How I crumple like an unread love letter,
Old, yellow parchment
Peppered with the mad scrawl
Of some wild, hungry heart
Gone destitute on the kisses
Of moonlight’s only daughter.
She is where I go to burn
And where I go to burn again.
And in such certain times
I lay my mouth down on the bed of her throat,
I wonder if she hears the story
My lips keep telling
Of falling in love with a girl
Who became a cloister of fire.
