A brush of your fingers
the imprint of your smile.
A whisper of
on my mind.
Like eating gelato
under a cold winter sky -
it's illogical logic
imperfect perfection
that I've found myself here with you tonight.

We're on a precipice
about to take flight.

(I've made up my mind
to let my walls tumble,
the taste of coffee-mint-chocolate
on my tongue.)

I don't want to lose
these stars in my eyes.

I'm thinking of you
all through the night.