You spoke in whispers that night under the stars.
I can't remember what you said,
I just feel your head gently colliding with mine,
hear your laugh as you retreated back, apologizing.
I smell the detergent left in your thin clothes.
I recall your arms wrapped around my waist,
the tingling in my throat as I looked up into your dark features,
your green eyes focused on my lips, but never touching them.

I sense the burning in my torn knee from where my flesh hit the ground earlier that night,
and the sound of my sweet breath against the open wound to reduce the pain.
And again, your laugh, as you gloated over my klutzy behavior.

You didn't say anything significant.
No I love yous, no I can't live without yous, certainly no
you mean the world to mes.
So my ears only heard the summer crickets hiding in the bushes,
and again,
your warm laugh,
with my hands against your stomach
to  feel the hysteria run through your body,
ending its journey as it greeted the air.

That was enough for me.
I didn't need promising cliches to feel content.
Your hand wrapped in mine was enough,
enough for a few lonely evenings
to look back on the memory,
and still feel you with me.

But I still can't recall a word you said,
that night,
as you spoke whispers under the stars.