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Description
for Connor

The stars are sentient and musical,
postcard-bright in the navy sky; the sand
moon-white though we see no moon.
It feels good to cry silently,
your mind brushing the edges of mine,
each tear on my face a thought --
missed you since i left
so much wrong i’ve done
you still answer my calls
this beach this moment
gone tomorrow
I reach for the worn-soft
of your flannel, tipping over
to lay my head down wordlessly
on your booted feet:
forgive
this weakness;
too long
since i touched love.
Your head on my side is absolution
as you curl behind me, bodies not holding
just brushing as we listen to the stars
and watch the waves rolling in,
a sheet billowed by the hands of the invisible moon.

Description
for Connor

The stars are sentient and musical,
postcard-bright in the navy sky; the sand
moon-white though we see no moon.
It feels good to cry silently,
your mind brushing the edges of mine,
each tear on my face a thought --
missed you since i left
so much wrong i’ve done
you still answer my calls
this beach this moment
gone tomorrow
I reach for the worn-soft
of your flannel, tipping over
to lay my head down wordlessly
on your booted feet:
forgive
this weakness;
too long
since i touched love.
Your head on my side is absolution
as you curl behind me, bodies not holding
just brushing as we listen to the stars
and watch the waves rolling in,
a sheet billowed by the hands of the invisible moon.