I want delicate words that expertly unravel around your sculpted body,
cascading down your pale skin while sinking in to erase the ugly sentences life has cast upon you.

I want the things I write to stain you with my presence, a sign to the world that I have covered you already so there is no more of you to see.
So the devious individuals who grow eager to wedge themselves under your skin, know that there is no way I would let them in, because you are mine and will always belong to me.

These would be rich words full of anomalies that leave a lingering taste upon your lips when you whisper them softly. They would hold the potential to wrap themselves around you in a suffocating vice, or let you down easily in a beautiful symphony of literacy. They would be harsh when they need to be, but sweet in majority.

I want these words to stay in your memory, to hold you and comfort you, protect you and sometimes mother you. So when my touch is absent and my presence gone, you will still feel my words and not feel so alone, so until I am home and can hold you in my arms, these words will be a token to remind you of my love.

But the thing with love is, it can get so overwhelming, that writing about it can no longer be an option, so until I can once again find the words that right now escape me, know I love you today and tomorrow and after that for infinity.