I love the way your voice sounds at night.
Raspy whispers of the drunken moon.
Asking for the slow and stale
out of bed kisses.
I reach for your lips,
picking up the tastes
of all the dreams we never got around to.
Connecting the dots on your skin,
Little Dipper on your back.
Scars are slowly turning into stars,
and I’m realizing that healing
is easier to do in the dark.