you whisper lovely things
into my back
as you
kiss down my spine
you tell me you could
write sonnets in my freckles
and keep dreams
in the valley of my backbone
you run your fingers
along my ribs
like a harp
and you thank them
for taking care of my lungs
and of my heart
you mumble,
that my hips
were made for your lips
to perpetually be against them
and somehow
you kiss every
unseen scar
and you see through
my stone walls
as if they were glass