We lay back on the cold sand,

The better to watch the night.

The two of us, spread eagled

Left over laughter still escaping in blows,

Trying to catch our breath.



Breathing to the rythym

Of the crashing waves and silence

But for the water's whispers.

Then your voice, low and soft:

"All those stars are dead, you know.

Their light is just a reflection, an imprint

On a black, blank canvas."



Old information, maybe, but you made it

Sound like magic, and I was entranced.

I turned my head to look at you.

You reached out, pressed your fingertips

Against the traintracks of blue veins on my wrist.



I feel you even now.

Your fingerprints stick to my skin,

The impression lingering on

Long after you have gone.