failed love letter
i long to paint in lavenders and greys in the shadows of your body. i want to highlight every bone in a moonlight smear of white.
to savor your soft mouth as tasting summer’s first sun-warmed fruit. to trace the hollows between your bones and rememorize the shape of you.
i long to be intimate with your anatomy.
i want to paint the floor with your plasma as i familliarize myself with the beating, breathing flesh that is your organs. to separate and see the workings of you. to trace the veins and arteries that provide you with life.
i would hollow a place between your shoulders so you could carry me around with pride. i want to play dress-up in your skin and house in your body.
i want to section your flesh and lay you out on a table. to re-categorize and memorize. i want to hold your heart in my hand and match each beat with pumping blood of my own.
i want to strip off the wardrobe of flesh and lay our naked souls out to bask in the perfection of simplicity.
i want to call your heart my own.
i want to unite my hands in yours. melt tendon to bone. flesh to breathing bone.
i want to carry your fiber in my pocket to reference when i am alone.
i long to be your adornment.
and your crown.
and your home.
