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My Dearest,

Let's snatch the strings that dangle
from the corners of the stars
and shimmy until the depression,
regression,
molestation,
falls far behind.
At 23 I'll be sleeping
with the one who will mold my dreams
with words that drip,
slip,
trip,
from lips that haven't changed from 5 years ago.
Will we recover if we fall
past lust
until skin on skin is only one of the dreams we share?
They're stareing at us with wide eyes
like they did when I was 18
and still holding your hand in mine
as we danced through the day.
Weigh
way
down my eyelids
and press your fingers to them.
Hold them.
I trust you.
I'll miss you.