by Claire Crowley
In the shadows of the night
shards of sunlight
creep into my eyes.
Dreams of you seep into my mind.
Dave Matthews plays in the background
of this place underground.
We can talk all night
while the candles melt their wax
and destiny hangs overhead.
At the bottom of the bottle
I reach for something sober
to make sense of this: your smile is my addiction.
Maybe I’ll never be able to touch you,
but tangible things always break apart anyway.
You own the thoughts
in which I dream
and that’s more than I could ever need.