I have your scent and your pillow and your love but I can't sleep
without your chest to my cheek,

and my ears filled with the way your heart beats into my brain and settles in my throat and no I'd never boast that that's the only metronome I need.

I need your body and your hands and the burn of your lips on my skin to be sure I exist when my mind says I don't.

Your eyes have always told me that blue eyes are cold and hazel eyes can't make up their minds, that maybe green eyes are perfect, but you've obviously never seen your chocolate eyes shine.

I need to feel your gaze on my ******* and the swell of my hip to remind myself that I still exist, and **** I may even be living.

I miss you more than the amount of stars in a cubic mile of space, and I could have said infinity but us humans don't get to witness that grace...

And maybe that's fine because I'd rather love you with my handful of stars than the promise of the entire universe, in which I'd die without knowing your loving smile.

But if we did get forever, I'd spend mine with you, and weave you a new constellation with every change of the weather.

So maybe a picture is worth a thousand stars, because I'd barter any amount of the vast unknown universe to take a picture of your heart.

Specifically a picture of your heart, beneath your ribs and your lungs, beneath where my head rests.

Because I can't sleep without our metronome to count my breaths.

Because I need your heart to beat it's melody for head.

Because there's less than miles between us, there's less than walls that box in my longing for your touch.

Because I have your scent and your letters and your image in my brain,
but if it's all the same, I miss you more than I'd ever miss my last name.