26 + 18

If I try,
I can make out your silhouette
next to me;

On the soft patchwork,
different flowers bloom,
but has the sun set
on our perfect day?

You find me crumpled,
hair tossed and logic lost
I find you perfect.

Skin on skin
from sin to sin
no one knows where we have been.

And if we forget all the reasons
that speak against our simple treason,
and tell our lies with truthful eyes,

I may be able to make you real
and hold you tight as we steal
one last sunrise.