So this is how it begins:
an empty bottle of wine followed by our lips embracing
like old friends, your fingers tracing the dark crevasse of my spine
So that when I am alone
the smell in the air
has two or three layers I had not noticed
and the moon is just the yellow imprint
of your thumb tracing my breast

The stars are simply
all the places you’ve pierced me.

My heart no longer beats alone in its darkened enclave,
not knowing if anyone hears its song. No, now
each syncopation marvels
at its new constellation canopy
Like me, it wishes for a match to light one pinprick on fire,
a tiny spark that burns the heaven’s stories away,

Leaving us to the duty of composition. We will write them with those voices never heard,
with languages spoken in the darkest spaces, in the quietest of tones.

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...