I count the freckles on your back as if they were the luminescent stars of the night sky.
I connect them like dots,
creating shapes and images that resemble the constellations that float ceaselessly through space.

Men use the sky as a page to unfold myths of gods and adventure.
I use your back as my canvas to create a tale of us,
and the images I've painted are beautiful.

I see two bodies entwined in one another.
My body perfectly scooped to the shape of your sleeping curve.
Two bodies,
but one glistening heart.
I cast to the sky the sensations of intimacy.
The first time your calloused hands caressed my skin,
and how you soothed that rough touch with a tender kiss.

I inscribe on your skin the word love,
but I'm scratching at stars that I can't reach.
The constellations I've created are mere reflections of the impressions you left on my soul.
Love projected onto a canvas that you will never see.

For we gaze upon two different skies.

I dream of us by night.
In the dusty recess of my mind I drown in thoughts of you.
But it's you a dreamer of the day who is a dangerous man.
For you may act out your dreams with eyes wide open,
and you move without the stars in sight.

For the sky on your back is all I will ever see,
since that September night you turned and walked away from me.