After a long night of tracing her tattoos with my damp forefinger,
and while the wind through an ajar window made her toes curl
around a secondhand blanket,
and as a cat scurried off to find something else to be bitter towards,
and the noises of the city usher in like a ghost with unfinished business,
enveloping our bodies and carrying us as if
reclined in an old rusty suitcase,
free from the common laws of the land we hide away
in the darkness of a corner,
where no one taps on doors and disturbs the dust
that circles around the floorboards,
where we sleep with the moon that no one sees
and a glow reserved only for us and fits you just right,
we lay in the glove of the night,
surrendering to the hold of dusk.

06/05/2013

Posted on 06/05/2013
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