Please don't ask me
What my favorite feature
In the sculpture of you
Is
Because that's ******* nonsense.
I can't pick out one
Like the ripest berry on the bush.
You don't work that way.
I love the way it all works in harmony
The way that I know that nothing would look right on anyone else
But it looks like heaven-sent beauty on you
Your nose, your eyes, wrong on any other face
Are the face
That dreams are made of.
I don't love you for
One piece of the puzzle
I love you for the picture now that it's done
You are more than the sum of your parts
More so than any being has ever been.
You're the revelation of perspective
Of shading and shadows
In the art of my life
And I will not view a painting
In 2 inch squares,

My tongue
A sweet silvery dagger's blade
The cool flat of it slipping over you like some archaic inhuman magic
Sometimes, however, it slips
The keening edge moves into the flesh of your soul
Like so many scalpels into mastectomy patients
And you bleed in ways
I never meant you to

I understand that the ache falls deep
That it's hard to forgive those who slash you
But hear me out
Because my arms are the deftest needles
That mend the human heart
From the inside out
They can do anything you need
But only you decide
If there will be
A scar

I care about the world.  A lot.
I will always care about the world,
and I always have.
I am a hungry underdog
Starving to be a wolf.  
I care about the world.
Because it refuses to care about me.