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