I found this poem somewhere in my documents, how/why it got there, I don’t know. It’s short but I like it.

I like to imagine you’re mine.
Head back,
eyes closed,
speaking a secret language.
I fixate on your perfect lips
and full moon eyes:
the places your thoughts hide.
I imagine your words,
your voice,
your skin.
Then startle at the fluttering of shadows,
forget to breathe.
But it’s not you;
it’s just the hungry branches of trees.

– Author unknown –