i want my fingertips to know every bump and curve of your jawline

better than i know myself,

and i want your hands to explore the spaces in between my ribs.

 

follow my muscles like a road map

watch them tense and relax into you--

 

i could complete a dissertation on the way you flex your back

the gentle curve of unreleased stress around your shoulder blades, melting towards your waist

in an arrow that reminds me

we were once angelic, too.

 

we could play vampires;

bleed me dry and we can live forever.

you are made of stardust and promises

and i am made of glass

so tread lightly

until you shatter me

like you shattered your mom’s favorite vase

and then burn your fingers gluing me back together

 

we could be a fire if you wanted,

or we could stay like this.

 

a quiet, gentle passion.

 

i say “god, i love you” more than i ever did in church

and somehow it feels more true here;

lying next to you,

watching the way you breathe when you’re trying to convince yourself to fall asleep,

my knuckle stroking your cheek

and thanking the stardust in your skin

for every second we waste together.