Waking early and with a purpose, I pull you to my chest and stroke you into restfulness, as if all of my nurturing can make our world alright again. Everything is right again, I feel when you're in my arms.

So tonight I'll go to sleep just hoping, that I can rise in the morning and still be here instead of being stolen in the moonlight. A claimed changeling in the twist of twilight. My entire life revolves around my being, resolves around my need for seeing.

Let's have a picnic on the railroad, checkered blanket and all, as if pretending we don't belong anywhere makes the fact less strong.

I can pet your head, run my fingers down your scalp, scratch behind your ears and remember every single fact that composes your sweet skull. I run a risk admitting this, but: I love you. I may, in fact, be in love with you, considering that even the thought of your acceptance makes me weak in the knees.

Suddenly
I am soft bones and empty skin, blowing in the wind as you turn your head aside
I am smoky-breathed and full of promise, plump and swollen and venomous
I am knowing that you are the best of this, the better half of emptiness
I am being swallowed whole.