"He plays with the sunlight as it


Across her face while she sleeps

And burgundy lips whisper things that aren't a


But it's


How she doesn't know she's speaking

Resting her head in the crook of his elbow

Bangs fluttering over a closed eye

The one he glides a finger over in


Slightly shaky and careful not to

Wake her,

He's always gentle like that.

And the breath catches in his throat; disbelief

That she could make him so


Without even trying

Memories cling to her skin

Lucid and lovely and ever-so amazing

Like late nights at Billiard Palace


Stolen moments of passion

Emotions he keeps in his pocket to save until

Her burgundy lips whisper again."

10:07am 8/20/2005