I want you to tell me you love me. Write it on a note. Sing
it to the stars.
Place it over your heart and tell me the secrets you’ve never told me.
Place it over your heart and tell me the secrets you’ve never told me.
But it’ll be I who sings to the stars, a silent lullaby of
wishes.
I’ll lie gracefully in my bed once the evening comes, and
wait for you to fall on to my white cotton sheets.
They’ll devour us for a half-hearted second.
They’ll devour us for a half-hearted second.
And in the end, you’ll turn to me, and ask me what I’m
thinking.
My thoughts prevalent and plentiful- full from a lovers feast.
I’ll keep my mouth sealed, spilling no secrets of my hearts
lustful inclinations.
“Nothing”
I exhale a sigh.
Nothing. Hollow. Void. Destitute.
1+1 must not be two and the color of the sky must not be
blue if this is what exists be me and you (you and I)
- Becca