Let's hold hands and scream at the man in the moon.
Our voices will echo in the emptiness between the stars,
and the milky way will absorb every last syllable until
there is nothing left to say.
Our words will be lost among the galaxies,
the mutterings orbiting endlessly until
they become markers for the minutes turned into days,
into months, into years,
into the eternity I'd like to spend in your arms,
listening to you whisper beautiful, meaningless things
while your breath tickles my cheek.
We'd keep those things a secret until the last trickles of dusk
have vanished and twilight seeps out from the horizon.
We wouldn't want the sun to expose and cast
a burning light onto our darkest dreams.
We'll save those fantasies for when your fingers touch
the tender spot on the back of my neck,
for when my lips graze your shoulder blades.
Only then will the moon be high enough
to listen to our longing.
Perhaps we would see a shooting star,
and you would trace it's path across my chest.
A fiery trail of unspoken wishes and future promises
left to tingle behind my ribs.
But every promise will be broken with the first slivers of dawn,
and the light will take away the beauty of the mysteries
we left in gloomy crevices.
We'd learn of things we never wanted to know,
and regret will become like the sun.
It will shine brighter with each day,
And our only release will be found
in the early hours of the morning,
when the darkness is complete
and the silence pounds against our ears.
Only then will the murmurs of past nights begin again,
and our desire is renewed.
