When I say I like to talk about personal things, I don't mean ***.
I don't want to talk about what you'd do to me.
Or what you think it would feel like to have my hands all over you.
No.
I want to talk about the stars, space, if it scares you that we're merely a speck of nothingness in a sea of emptiness.
I want to know what scares you, and why.
The things you hate, or what you want to do with your life.
I want to hear about the places you love, and the ones you have loved without ever seeing.
I want to hear those things, not what you want to do to me in bed.

Upon your body
were the littlest
of imperfections
that caused you
to miss the
beauty
and the art
they had created

Scars
Discoloration
Lack of pigment

Combined
they have made
perfection itself

It's early.

Quietly, I sip my coffee
listening to you talk about
your new favorite songs
and the latest movies

You pause to take a drink.

The sun rays shine
through the café window
onto the spot of your skin
that lacks pigment

Pictures cannot capture
the moment we sat
together in silence,
smiling cheerfully

In two hours
the sun will rise,
to cast its colors
into the morning skies.

Without you here,
the summer warmth near.
alone, I watched the sun rise
and forgot all fears.