the stars have lost their history
i've spent a hundred years
under this bruised sun
and without your breath on my neck,
your delicate fingers around mine
i can't see the dying light.

lying amongst the sunflowers
the world becomes simple
three shades; black, white, and yellow
there is right and wrong
and then everything about you
you are the exception, the resolution.

between the streetlights
i feel darkness swallow me briefly
my thoughts are swimming, disconnected
i can only focus on your words
and how i can skew them to mean
that you love me, too.