Rest your hand on mine like you always do; see the constellations as you sleep

I’ll count the twenty seven white bones again tonight, and tomorrow night until I know their names by heart

I’ll roam over the mountains that your spine is comprised of

And gingerly kiss the russet skin that stretches so translucently over them

When the time comes I’ll learn ( Read more... )

His skin was white as porcelain, hollow ( Read more... )