You lay under the star, connecting the freckles on his tanned skin to make constellations, pointing them out as you go along.
His skin is warm under the touch of your fingertips as you run them over him like rain falling. You can feel him smiling in the dark,
and he's the only one on this earth who can make your name sound like honey, spilling slowly over his tongue. He has his hand in your hair,
and the honey's still dripping as you catch it with your mouth before it hits the ground. He tells you the stories of the sky, of the gods, of all the heroes before him. You've heard them all before, but it's always like hearing them for the first time when he's telling them. You'd trade your life to hear that honey fall, 'til the end of the world. And even then. He tells you how none of the heroes ended up happy. You know this.
But you'll be the first, you say. He agrees, kisses the back of your hand. And you'll be the reason, he says. His honey is sweeter than anything that has ever touched your lips. He will be the first hero who was happy. You swear it.
His skin is warm under the touch of your fingertips as you run them over him like rain falling. You can feel him smiling in the dark,
and he's the only one on this earth who can make your name sound like honey, spilling slowly over his tongue. He has his hand in your hair,
and the honey's still dripping as you catch it with your mouth before it hits the ground. He tells you the stories of the sky, of the gods, of all the heroes before him. You've heard them all before, but it's always like hearing them for the first time when he's telling them. You'd trade your life to hear that honey fall, 'til the end of the world. And even then. He tells you how none of the heroes ended up happy. You know this.
But you'll be the first, you say. He agrees, kisses the back of your hand. And you'll be the reason, he says. His honey is sweeter than anything that has ever touched your lips. He will be the first hero who was happy. You swear it.