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