Still.

Perfume on the pillow

and

starlight in the wound

consuming

our forgotten futures.

 

A glisten of flesh in the moon

glow forming

in the soft place she slept.

 

New kiss, near past awake

on cold thought mornings

 

her mind, her skin,

the way of her hair

blonde on my chest in the dark.

 

Never the arguments

just the sparkly darkness

and quiet manufacture

 

of things long wanted.