you eyes are as black as the stars
that have gone out, and there is nothing that
we can do now, but wait
for the cold burst of morning and
the smell after the rain
.
the night is here and she is cold,
and peaceful. like a ghost she
creeps in and while
i trace the shadows on my ceiling,
you count the plasters on my fingertips
.
and maybe i should be composing
songs for you in the morning, i secretly
trace the lines of your shoulder,
when you turn to me
seeking warmth in my arms.
