there is settled ink
in the curve of your chin,
graceful arms shadowed
on your wall when
you decided, hey, let's
dance to the music of
morning birds. there is
empathy in the way
your tongue slides over
the word "we"
and tastes it like coffee
with cream and no
sugar. i took your
wondering fingerprints
and gathered them
against the wall,
placed so like the
direction mattered,
the colors fairly
blinded the tigers
sleeping under our beds
and they screamed
because there are
things too beautiful
for here. tomes
draw inspiration
from your voice and
write god words in
english so normal
people can understand
how some people
do not understand.
i typed you necklaces
and you wear
them on your skirt, taking
glances from strangers
and tucking them into
a deep pocket
for later and dark
and thoughts.
you set ransoms
for the autumn leaves
and put them in your
hair, i only left
them there because
nothing
is as good.
yet i am afraid. i am afraid of your willow-branch hair that raises the ones on my arms, i am afraid of your cotton ball eyes that flay open my thoughts, delve into the things i don't know, the things i didn't know, the words i should have said, the words that got stuck somewhere between my epiglottis and my lips. i am afraid that you are a violated temple, that you are an unholy goddess and i am deathly afraid of the fact that you might be human. i am afraid because dandelion seeds leave after you wish on them, eleven eleven turns to eleven twelve and you have missed your chance. shooting stars are only in the sky for so long, and i am afraid that you will only be in the sky for so long and i will miss my chance to catch you, i am afraid of your words that slip between my headaches and relieve tension. i am afraid that the sky castles that i built are only cages and no one can really live in them, including you. i am afraid that my list of requirements don't fit people, don't fit you, i am afraid of your beauty and afraid of your humanity, and so i wait. with my mouth closed. and smile when you stand to get a drink, as your skirt brushes softened legs, knowing something that you do not.