I write words on you
with my fingers running along your skin,
chasing the sun's rays.

It's too early too tell if you're likely
to be tickled by the idea of staying.
I am comfortable in my own skin
(on yours),
so I don't have to beg.

As long as your eyes are closed,
we can dream of better things --
knots we can always untie,
flights we can always afford
and distances we can always ignore.