you and i are not puzzle pieces
not two halves of a bigger whole
and if there is a key to my lock
you do not have it, but your smile
makes me want to open up anyway

the deft way our fingers interlock,
this digital embrace, isn't perfect
due to a higher being’s design;
no, it comes from the days wishing
i had the courage to hold your hand

but while we’re alike in many ways
your body is still foreign, changed;
a language i’ll spend my life learning
by your side or pinned under you
(any which way that you will have me).

there is a part of me that
chases, clamors for, craves your touch
(soft, steady, gentle or far too much)
a stubborn/reckless fraction
of an imperfect whole;
yearning to cage the still uncaged,
to catch myself a lost angel.

but your heart is too fragile,
too precious and too complicated
(untarnished and unremonstrated)
and my grasping fingers, they
would leave smudges and stains
handprints upon a handkerchief
****** white in this world of ink.

you are not a blank canvas
that tempts one into leaving a mark
(writing my name, my love on your skin);
you are a finalised masterpiece,
every line perfection,
and to change, covet or chain you
would be the highest blasphemy.