A Song

I could write a song

of moons and longing.

The lunar waves lap

against your legs

as the stars glint

in your eyes,

forever belonging.

Or, something about

the Sun rising only

to see you sleeping.

Your beauty leaves

even the Cosmos

weeping.

Tonight, I’ll lazily write,

withholding things

wrought from

wishing.

With caught breath,

I’ll whisper tonight,

“Babe, you’re alright.”

Talk to me.