I’ve never studied the ***** of a nose so much.
Never wondered, thoughtful and inquisitive, how it would feel pressed against my raspberry cheek.
It’s the same shade of the lights that flash ‘stop’ against your skin, and that’s the same colour that I imagine the sun will flash when it burns and dies.
You lift my hand and kiss it.

Maybe this quiet is all I have.
I’m blind and lost and stumbling terribly. You see it all, first hand.
But I see you. Every curve, the way your lips turn upward when your kisses move up my wrist.

I’ve never been so lost in something before. Never so uncoordinated, never so unsure.
Maybe this will be like this forever. Maybe I will never learn to curb that which takes me, sharp teeth and violent, to the place where my quiet peace rots. Maybe the sun will burn out all too soon.

But for now, there’s you. Your nose. The red lights across your face.

You put my hand down to your thigh. The lights turn green.