"Such soft imperfections

Tender flesh underneath the pads of my fingertips

Smooth like starlight

From

Your

Window,

Filtered through blinds and burning blue-green eyes,

Playing connect the dots with battle scars

Because

I wouldn't

Erase

Them,

The treasured marks to remember where to go

And

Were I've been

And

My lover in tangled sheet whispers

As if we owned tomorrow's sun

(it's the

moon

that makes us crazy,

baby)."

10:03pm 11/13/2005

Note: I used to trace his scars all the time, in slight hopes of willing them all away, (particulary when we made love), but right before he left I realized that those scars were what made him exactly what I loved. Thanks for reading!