she keeps
my heart
on her bedside
table
so in the
middle of the night
she can
listen
to the murmurs
where my
dreamself
whispers
the lines
i can never
get
quite right
to the moon
who
understands
this longing
that tugs
at my pulse
much the same
way
he can pull
the seas
but never
quite
touch
in a
satisfactory way
of drenched
fingers
tracing
the curve of
her

i keep my heart on her bedside table because it hurts too fucking bad if it is too far from her