Breathe on my skin, slowly,
let me relish at the way your chest
seems transparent with love.
I want to trace your collarbone
and kiss your scars.
This is not about the way
your belly has hardened
over the months; this
is not about the way your lips
curve into a half-hearted pout,
even though, I must admit,
that in my dreams, I've wanted to
keep you warm in sultry sheets.
This is about the way
words falter from my mouth
whenever you're here,
the way my poetry
has become fluttery, the way
my ribcage is no longer a cage
with a dying bird pecking through
its bars, hoping for escape,
because there's no need for escape;
I'd spend all my life locked with you.
