As you fall into the tides of her sleeping
You play out the slices of pen on paper-
To kiss the scars beneath her hands
Is to put lips to ink
Ink to sheets
Sheets and scars to blend alike
And curve into letters
That you would send to her through her trance-
But she doesn't dream;
Rather, she traces her fingers through stars,
Her feet dipped in galaxies
As she drinks from the planets and moons around her head
In her celestial rest.