We’ll take a boat out to the moon when our hands turn cold and when we get there we’ll make a nest- out of whatever shells and forgotten secrets we can find. We’ll hold hands beneath lavender blankets and when it gets late we’ll sit writing love letters to the stars and reading poems in whispers. We’ll keep like this until we become forgotten- when the wind is falling we’ll be remembered for a moment and we’ll lie listening to the weeping petals as the ground wishes we would come back to hide in the trees.