There's something beautiful in the way she sleeps. Her eyes are tender, rimmed with fanned lashes that speak of tiny secrets kept safe behind closed lids. I'll never tell, but honestly I'd like to pry them apart and delve into the world in which she dreams. You'd call me a thief, but I swear I just want to walk upon her cerebral path, and tread affectionately into the gardens of her mind. It's there I've smelled the lush of wild roses and admired the way the wind blows when it's caught in the fire of her hair. It was in tired arms that I watched her breathe beneath the eyes of the moon. Every breath she made was a small tune playing against the hollow of my ribs. If you listen, you'll hear that even in the quiet she composes an orchestra between her lips. This is how I know, where I learn, what it means to lose it all - to give it all. It's only in the bare bones of the night that she rests her eyes, and unknowingly she cradles every hope and forsaken dream I've ever made. She's casting wishing stone upon wishing stone and my abdomen curls. It's nights like these where I am on bend and knee at her side and she'll never know as I count the spaces between her sighs. I am just a man caught in a moment and there's no place else I'd rather be. I am just a lost voyager, sailing across the outstretched forests of her uncharted dreams.