Tell me something to make me believe
in love outside of poetry
and lay besides me in the hours of solitude
in the silence of hushed lullabies
and sing me a song of sleepless nights
and chase away the morning sun
so we could spend more time
under sheets of lustful moon
and whisper in slurred and sultry tone
of your dreams of restless sea
and let me drown under waves
of heavy breaths until there is nothing left
inside my lungs and bring me back to life
with mouth to mouth of kiss and sigh
and trail and trace fingers over form and limbs
and let hands make way along neck and thighs
and drive my trembling fears away
that this is no more than bland repetitious fiction
of fairy tale and fantasy
and wrap me with your tongue and words
and let me explore your
every crest and curve and line
and show me something beyond
your naked truth and brittle bones
that you are here and I am not alone
and perform the ritual
of bringing back the dead
by making the dull unmoving heart
inside my chest beat again
and show me beds of stories made
of pages of you and I
and maybe then I could believe
in love outside of poetry