you've got a butterfly melting on the tip of your tongue and the crisp of your grapefruit skin pores through the pours of my sponging fingers and I had a dream- starstruck and set on a milky night that you came to me between the bridges of a canopied lens, lungs pink with passion, lips parsed and ready, I set my eyes along the rings of your chest and waited for it's plate to aliven, deep breaths heaving up and down as my cheeks glow hollow, I touched the rim of his golden wire framed glasses as he wiggled the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep them afloat as they draped and I asked him, "How old are you, ***?" as I dusted the blades of my shoulders, "I lost count," he said, eyes dimming against the background of the setting sun, "I lost count 'cause you see, from my point of view, it feels as though I've been alive for an eternity."