The sun is a pale disc in the white sky. The still air does not dare to breathe; it seems to have suffocated upon itself. You call me in to lighted cafes and blood red roses, to silver trinkets and heart shaped cakes. This cannot possibly be love. I am already weary of the tables and the crowds. But I scan the room for you as if trying to gather stars in my eyes
When found you kiss the vein in my throat, the edges of my fingertips
Everything shifts in spaceAnd suddenly it is.