Give me something to look forward to, she said-

The crease of your palm as your hand curves around the back of my neck, or the stillness that crowds your words when you whisper something no one else can know

Let me be the one to taste the endorphins and whiskey in your voice

When you finally say good night. 

And she raised her face to his, supplicant and small

And in the light cast by his backward smile

She wrote their epilogue.