I'm on my bed and she's playing with my hair
Electrical currents run through her fingertips, making my hair stand on end
There are lantern lights floating above our heads, tiny suns illuminating our pale bodies
She spends her Saturdays strumming Debussy from her harp in the moonlight, laughing and dancing without worry while I sit on the floor with colored ink all over my hands, stencils littering the floor and printing press pushed against the cement wall
She loves the smell of waffles in the morning and the way I look at my reflection in the mirror
She says my nose looks roman and she wants my face in her chest and I want to say I don't know when she asks what this is
I want to say I don't know to a lot but every time those three syllables rise in my throat, I choke
I feel the white cold fear grip my chest
I want the answer to everything, to be the oracle that everyone seeks in times of doubt
To be the all knowing, the wise, to understand the workings of the world
I want to tell her in scientific terms why my heart beats faster everyone she touches my face, why when she's not around me my brain feels cloudy and grey like the Washington skies above our heads, why every time I hear that song I want to be the singer on stage and sing the words just for her, why that time we were on my bed and the lights hovered over our porcelain figures I felt whole and like we were gods
But these thoughts are just for me
There is no need to say them out loud, for I know she feels this
She is an M80 on the 4th of July, luminous green sparks that catch my heart on fire
She is perfectly imperfect, purring at the sight of peaches in the summer heat
She is my rose, my bud that springs forth, bravely and passionately into spring
She is all I need, all I desire.