I want you to see the diamonds strewn across my forehead,
Glossy in light of a sweet, pink sun
And her sweeter, pinker kisses
Upon our faces.
I want you to feel my heat -
Scorching, burning, scalding -
As fingers dance (slowly) atop
Summer-brushed skin
And trip over moles.
I want you to know that roses caress my cheeks
As your hands fumble for a fragile jaw
In and amongst the thorns.

I want you to cure me. Call me
Lovesick
And my stomach will agree.
July fever is fleeting so
Can we make our bed
In linen daisies?
Let the wind carry whatever we wish to hear
Like Chinese whispers?
Can we dream under a bruised sky,
Waiting for pale rays to come
Cradled by white clouds
Hurdling hungry fists?

I think that’s what the doctor prescribed.