now you’re here on my new tweed sofa and
my heart feels as bare as our bodies
and the streetlight outside my apartment is shining on us
through the window, like it wants to impersonate the moon and
I want to tell you how beautiful you look
with your skin lit up like that, in this artificial moonlight but
I don’t, because I know you will have something to say about it
about the artificiality of it all, and I will not be able
to resist the urge to whisper, but not us, right?
and I cannot bear the possibility that you might hesitate to answer
so, I let you hold me instead, listen to the sound of your breathing
until the artificial birdsong lights up my phone