often, i let my mind wander off
unto thoughts of you, and your moustache
tickling me beneath the mistletoe-
smoke lingering, your fingertips ridden with ash,
and you kiss me and pull me in,
closer
closer
closer
until the miles distancing us
become nothing but a mere illusion

i imagine the scent of your pillow,
and the warmth of your blankets,
i am in a frenzy for your love
that will never dance across my skin
and tickle my sides,
with laughter and white lines
(healed, healed, healed)

you'd drift off to sleep,
and i'd lie awake and memorize
the exact locations of your freckles
and i'd trace your scars with shaking fingertips;
my aching legs would carry me,
to make toast
in the early hours of dawn,
to eat and wash down with water,
and keep it down, down, down
and let the numbers go

i'd drop every blade,
every bad habit,
as i walked to you,
even though i know
you'd never shame me

there are reasons behind the worry,
and tears behind these rivers,
but i'd walk three-thousand miles,
if only i could
             save
             you