My ears linger on your mouth,
Long after a fine dust has settled on your sentences,
I thirst for the liquid in your words,
The fludity in your voice,
It relieves the drought in my throat,
And when you leave,
I wish that I could capture sound in my palm,
Hold the present in a prison,
Hear the future in advance,
With you, I learned that the night has it's own literature,
Our story rests sleeping in my womb,
And I can't help but think that, tonight,
120 miles feels like light years away...