her eyes are dark
her brown cable knit sweater
a shade darker than those eyes
itches as it rubs against me.
my fingers find her skin
brush against her waist
and pull her sweater away
as she presses me to the wall
her lips begin their descent.

she tells me she loves
the way my lips turn, lopsided
when her hips press into mine
and the way my tattoos
make her feel protected
like i can conquer the world
with T.S. Eliot curving along my arm.

we whisper close as lovers
desperate to be remembered.
the lights in her room don't dim
but outside moons rise and fall
rise and fall
rise and-
her eyes are mirrors
begging me to stay.