impression

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.