warforme.

Woven through your fingertips is the very heart you stole from me, and buried between your lips is the breath that I gave so happily to fill your lungs - with which you sing to me so softly. My ears are warm from whispers shared too long ago, and my nerves are shot from the lack of your fingertips sliding along my spine and forcing them to wake.

This night feels like traintracks as bedsheets and losing sight at the first of dawn. As though it could go on forever, these dreams die in my shadow and wake in the sadness of your voice, and I am left to wonder about these steps that we've taken. So seemingly hard, and yet I rest assured that the end of this pathe will come in the form of brownandgreen and eskimo kisses.