And I think that 4am knows all my secrets,
I think it knows how you once held my waist as you told me secrets of your own,
I think that it knows that when I was lonely I would drink wine and dance under pine trees.
By Friday you smelt like Summer again,
you smelt of the salt kissed air on the nights our feet would trail along train tracks.
You kissed me again like that day in March,
you kissed me as you did when it was nothing but lust, nothing but star-like shadows.