For a while we talked about things I’ve forgotten now. Or maybe we were silent for a while, me sitting at the foot of his bed, him stretched out with his book, the two of us sneaking looks at each other, listening to the sound the elevator made, as if we were in a dark room or lost in the country at night, just listening to the sound of horses.

I hide because there’s more to me than what you see and I’m not sure you’d like the rest. I know that sometimes, I don’t like the rest.

You are flowers in my stomach.
Cutting me open nightly, blooming through the cracks of the ribs.
I only want to be the sun for you.