The last of the sun's light
Streaks the sky like ultraviolet,
And everything burns away in an instant -
The smooth planes of your back
Lit up like a fire in the wind -
Faint points of pressure.
We are ghosts,
Clinging to a past we can't leave behind,
And the walls are closing in.
The night slides in,
Drawing the moon down over the mountains
And settling with the bite of acid,
Taking a deeper turn.
A moment of stillness,
And a shiver crawls up a spine
And over the edge of the breath we give up,
And we want -
Pressed under the weight 
Of words and promises;
Miles of beautiful words pressed into our skin.
We are breathless, 
And part of a world that's ours -
Utopia. Silence. 
The burn, the warm, the numb -
Real and tangible and pulsing.
Our words hang in the air between us,
Seeping into each other like relevant dreams.
Our fates sealed and brought forth,
We claim each other idols.
The solemnity that slows our blood
Explodes in the night sky,
And it's a beautiful sound -
Shadow's swift departure - cut, release.
Did it burn like this before?
Gripping to anchor,
We trace moonlight in darkness.
It's hard, and it's real, 
And it's a weight we know in every particular;
A compass spinning in every direction,
A wire sparking in the blood.
It's a clear night- no clouds -
And we can see the stars.