Looking up at the ceiling in the earliest hours of the morning,
I promise myself- tonight, you will actually fall asleep.
but the ends of your hair tickle the top of my collarbones
and I find myself too flustered to remember promises of the past.
you burrow your head into my chest and I lay still, until suddenly,
the curve of your nose, the press of your lips
against my paper skin become too much sensation to bear.
I turn away from you in the dark,
but your sleepy fingers mumble their way across my stomach,
and once again, we’re intertwined.
I take your wrists into my hands and trace small circles with my thumb
over where I know an errant constellation of freckles to be.
I swear that I can hear your pulse over the din of the darkness
and I swear that it fills the negative space in my own,
like puzzle pieces fitting together. distracted,
I stare up at the ceiling again, resigning myself to a fate of insomnia.
by Allison Liu