If I held your palm to my heart in the moonlight
would the soon-to-be sunlight matter much?
We could only whisper and never speak aloud,
stay forever underneath where nobody can see.
As long as your lips are mine to taste, no amount
of darkness could overcome our time spent in the night.
The curve of your neck I know is lonely,
your hands cold, eyes tired, and your lips dry.
I’ll cure you in the night, forever whispering
the world’s best kept secret to the bare dark.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
If I held your palm to my heart in the moonlight
would the soon-to-be sunlight matter much?
We could only whisper and never speak aloud,
stay forever underneath where nobody can see.
As long as your lips are mine to taste, no amount
of darkness could overcome our time spent in the night.
The curve of your neck I know is lonely,
your hands cold, eyes tired, and your lips dry.
I’ll cure you in the night, forever whispering
the world’s best kept secret to the bare dark.
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