I wonder if she notices,

In certain times when darkness softens

And the hard edges of silence

Turn our whispers crystalline

When she curls my body

Into the silk parenthesis of her arms

Laying tiny rivers of breath on my skin,

How I crumple like an unread love letter,

Old, yellow parchment

Peppered with the mad scrawl

Of some wild, hungry heart

Gone destitute on the kisses

Of moonlight’s only daughter.

She is where I go to burn

And where I go to burn again.

And in such certain times

I lay my mouth down on the bed of her throat,

I wonder if she hears the story

My lips keep telling

Of falling in love with a girl

Who became a cloister of fire.