His smile dazzles me and the walls mock us, calling out the improbability of love. There aren’t words to make light of this chaos and all of his promises are suffocating my will to try. I have lent wings to our madness and naively coaxed it to fly. Now it flutters helplessly mere inches above our outstretched fingers and mine lack the dexterity to grasp it.
Today is his, and I wish for nothing more than to occupy that simple space beside him as he lies silently awaiting the dawn. I want my capable hands to know the soft skin that stretches over the entirety of his body. I want to kiss every freckle and name every birthmark. I want to know every inch of his body as deeply as I know the dark corners of his soul. I want to know what his pale skin looks like under the moon and how he’ll smile when my fingertips gingerly brush over the tender areas he’s spent so long describing to me. I want to feel his hair on my face as he claims my lips as his own, I want to touch that hair, just to be sure that it’s real. I want to feel his weight on my body, I want to feel him. I want to feel this passion build until we finally find release in my bed beneath the moon
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