Without a look outside, the stars are bright.
Everything slows, shifts, stops. The wind is grey.
The trees sing of you, all too far away.
Behind my eyelids roses bloom, shut tight.
On skin, traced – shapes, old finger-strokes of nights
where one by one we spill out and we lay.
Drop a kiss of trails, a trail of kisses, say
to me that it is the only home. Moonlight
coughs, shaking the air. Neither here nor there
we build a bridge, half past, half present here,
all in the future. I miss you, painfully.
The straying breeze picks up some leaves, and where
it goes, I want to follow – and maybe hear
our clouds colliding touch eternally.


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