You breathe on the glass and I can no longer see you clearly,

But at least this tells me your breath is still warm;

That you're alive and well,

So I think I'll be okay for now.

I want the oil of your fingertips
to be infused in my skin,

I'd like to discover strands of your hair
tangled in my clothes,

I want the taste of your sweet skin
to soak into my dry tongue,

I'd like-after a long night-for your scent
to stain every hair on my head,

I wish for you to always be a part of me in all the smallest ways possible.

Stomp on roses angrily with bare feet.
The thorns will tear into your skin.

It will hurt, but note how beautifully the color
of your blood will match the pedals.