I want to tiptoe
around the edges of candlelight
and kiss your eyelashes,
my cool breath quenching the heat in your gaze.
Cup your cheek and feel your blush
bite my hand,
I would lie next to you anyway
and teach you to be soft.
Tender, dear tender,
your hips against my waist unlock a notion
I've been too scared to acknowledge:
maybe love is less than obsession,
and I've been afraid to only go halfway.
Between falling and tripping,
my feet stumble,
jostled by words of condolence and advice,
sentiments and phrases becoming backseat drivers,
competing for my highest regard.
I regard but fly not,
I'm grounded with your heat in my chest
and a cold shoulder turned to my back.
My past's whispering has no place in my ears;
I will be my own fighter.
Survivor.
I imagine that when I find you,
you would kiss my wrists and never stop talking,
just because I want you to be the one
who knows just what I want.
I never want to lose you, in my mind.
Can you be eternity wrapped in flesh?
Infinity's carcass,
I would never fail and fall,
failing to be your perfection.
I want to be perfect for you.
Perfect for your hands and arms to feel
and wrap around,
perfect for your lips to kiss and speak of,
kiss and tell.
Perfect for your eyes to hold and remember; remember in lowlight and fluorescence.
But I'm screaming your name so loudly,
it's hard to tell whether it's midnight
or daylight
or 60 watt bulbs.
But I would be your constant,
your present and future,
your present indicative
and future perfect.
I do, will, shall.
I do. Love you.
