Late nights with clear head

His hand felt warm against mine.
My fingers tremble as i trace the shape of his jaw.
Every curve every edge perfectly placed.
He's  like a well written poem, every line right where  it's  supposed to be.
I don't  want the sun to rise so I can stay a bit longer, to cherish what I have.
His eyes a complicated mess, they speak with deafening  silence.
They convey what we are afraid to admit.
I long for the next nightfall that will find us together.
Legs intertwined, eyes bloodshot and hearts full of yearning.