Stardust

He is made of stardust. 

I can only dream, 

Of touching him

Of holding him;

Holding him so tight that when I let go

His t-shirt smells of me

His body can still feel, 

The last of my skin on his skin

Of my head resting on his shoulder

Of my soft breath on his neck

My whole being

Ready to surrender;

Just by a mere gesture of his touch. 

He is made of stardust.