Fighting Sleep

He doesn’t have to tuck her hair behind her ear. He loves the way it heaves spread-legged and sweet with dried sweat, like crushed berries on her pillow. She watches him behind interlocked lashes, breathing slightly discolored because he’s burning her lungs right now with that faraway look in his eyes, like they were swallowing stars beyond her head and she can only catch the residual grace running down his chin. He has to touch her to make sure she’s tangible, so he gives in and brushes a few strands like brown leaves into a rusty pile by the pale picket-ridge of her ear. When she kisses him, she can feel her eyelids folding against reality and he’s tightening himself around her to anchor himself to this dream But they’ll never be this beautiful with autumn in her hair and the stars in his eyes.