Sleepless Nights

"The world was on fire and no one could save me but you. It's strange what desire will make foolish people do."
- Chris Isaak

The moonlight streams in, lighting up the nook where our mangled bodies lay, expended.

I listen to the rise and fall of your chest, the valley air still fresh in your lungs. Your skin is soft, as though freshly modeled in the clay furnaces of the earth. You remind me of then of the stillness of the woods and the menace of the night, of the certainty of temperance and the fear in your heart. I believe in that moment, with such surety, that knotted fingers are synonymous with knotted hearts.

I lay awake, pondering the axioms upon which we've architectured our relationship, pondering these new truths that I've stumbled upon. The memory of love clings perpetually on the air, staining our lips, our tongues, our thighs; building walls, windows, watchtowers, till we learn to avert our eyes, divert our hearts, subvert our minds.

I ring my arm around your neck and pull you a little tighter, hold you a little closer.
I listen to the rise and fall of your chest.
I listen to the words spilling out of your heart.

I listen, as I always have, while you quietly undo my seams.