4:18 pm / Friday, Jul. 27, 2007
his face-- a thousand miles
between the eyes and his playful grin.
at night when he dreams with me, I swear
I'll never let him let go of me.
with a thousand miles between us, I stretch the lines of my map between the sheets--
sheets that cling to him as hard as I.
His face gone to me except for his lines in our atlas--counting the miles between his sholders and mine
counting the miles between his heart and my sore chest.
at night when he dreams with me I swear--
the anticipation of waiting for him
is never as exciting as the moment we're between the same sheets.
The winter-cool cotton turns warm from the heat of two hearts speed-beating.
quickly we arrive at the same conclusion.
the anticipation holds nothing against the excitment of you.