Some nights,
I travel my fingers through my hair and across my thighs,
Eyes closed, but my heads filled with visions of you.

Goosebumps like Braille, spelling your name, over and over and over,
And over,
And over

I mimic your movements,
Slow and steady,
But it’s such a shame that the space beneath my eyes,
Is so much wetter than the place between my thighs,
And it’s so silly how I choke and I cry,
On your name, again and again.