Moth holes in the fabric
were stars
in the blanket fort
above our heads
we made in your living room
one sunny Sunday afternoon.

We named new constellations
until the
sunlight faded
and our makeshift sky
went dark.

As we lay there
staring up at where our
stars used to be
you took my hand
and fell asleep
but not before you’d
kissed me in the dark
to tell me that
you loved me.

We’re older now
more grown up
or so we think
with bills to pay
and jobs to keep.

Let’s go back
to that living room fort
to kissing under
moth-hole stars
and to the way you
said you loved me
if only for just tonight.

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