
Someone once told me I had a map of the stars painted on my back.
But it’s not the night that I carry.
I told them it was a map of the kisses the sun left on my skin.
It is a map of the light.
XII•I•XVIII

Someone once told me I had a map of the stars painted on my back.
But it’s not the night that I carry.
I told them it was a map of the kisses the sun left on my skin.
It is a map of the light.
XII•I•XVIII