Night flight

you arrive in the hours

when the moon forgets its name,

moving like a quiet thought

I never learned

to tame.

you touch me like a memory

still trying to exist,

a borrowed breath of something

I was never meant

to miss.

your hands whisper warmth

in a language half-awake,

a promise made of trembling

that dawn will always

break.

you leave as the light

starts softening the air—

some truths only bloom

in the dark

we share.

and I stay in the afterglow,

where your absence feels deep,

counting the shadows

your leaving

still

keeps.

I reach for the quiet

you leave in my room,

the space shaped like longing

that flowers

in gloom.

there’s a softness you carry

that my daylight won’t see,

a tenderness you offer

then take

back

from me.

and every time you vanish

before morning is through,

I’m left wanting the version

of you

that wants

me

too