In a moment such as this, I entertain a fleeting thought
So dense that I am overwhelmed
Where she asks me to hold her to sleep and I think I could quite simply die here and not mind it at all.
I wonder why I’d think such a thing, but it’s not a thought to dishearten
It’s an instance of peace so grand I could settle in it
Limit morality for its suspension.
But she asked me to write on her back
So I began with this thought at the base of my tongue
And drew her a letter on her back
She asks me, are you really writing something?
I nod yes
She asks me what it is
I tell her I’m writing her a letter
but when she wants to hear it I refuse
I know I’ll confess it to her one day
But today I’d like it to stay on her skin.