STING.

Humping on top of me,
like an old hornet trying to get his sting inside.
But yours was never one
to be seen so blatantly.
In the night you are beautiful:
Eyes ringed with liner
and a mass of curls.
I dream of you still
in the darkened world
regardless of our star dying out
a long time ago.
Ambiguous.
For sometimes I still see it,
hide and seek.
It winks at me,
making me aware this creation
of the word love is never over.
It tells me in a morse code
of kisses, winks and fragile promises
that we all have a weakness
and that you are still mine.