We walked through midnight soaked fields, through wheat grass teasing the backs of our knees to feel the cricket songs reverberate against our skin. I showed him how I navigate the sky--each constellation a former love: the Queen, the Hunter. He apologized for the burning spheres, for my loss of language. His lungs, fingers, eyelashes will become dotted blue traces, pin-point pricks on my character--my navigation. Kings will keep my guard, and I will sleep soundly beneath his face.