I wish someone could throw us both
into a melting *** or fiery inferno,
so that our skin would melt off our bones;
When we are dragged from the embers
our muscles would be fused in a way
They couldn’t tell your skin from mine.

I want our tendons to be French braided,
Our curled hair to be stirred into the
membrane of our shared bloodstream.

Sometimes when you drag your fingers across my skin,
I feel my skin shifting like sand;
Your simple touch leaving chasms within
the soft clay of my malleable complexion,
My body forever memorizing
your fingers swimming through my hair.

I don’t know how to tell you that I
equate your touch with sipping
The Nectar Of The Gods,
How the graze of your pinky finger
reminds me of
being swallowed by sunlight
and digested into a Lunar Eclipse.

If I could puncture your palm with a needle,
and stitch your hand to mine,
I would have already knitted our fingers together
to create the world’s warmest tapestry of
Skin and Love and fingernails.