Your toes curl.
The delicate touch of fingertips by moonlight.
His hand on your hip, holding just tight enough.
Surrounded by stars that scar the night as they blink,
Reflecting, like tiny pieces of glass scattered across the sky,
At the people standing on the ground beneath them.
Fragile blades of grass sway in the evening breeze.
Brown hair settles on shoulders,
Running through fingers and over soft skin.
Clouds rip apart.
Skin softens still on adoring lips.
Standing alone with our thoughts
Asking questions without answers.
Smoke waves towards the sky by streetlight.
“What are you thinking?”
The ground is wet beneath your feet.
Eyes don’t meet as you ponder the question,
Doubting your beliefs on a starry night.
“What are you thinking of?”
Is there ever an answer?
He wills the stars to answer back
Even a whisper
And they begin to fall