I want to print letters on paper that bend to form the shape of your hips
with ink that fades to match the veins in your wrists;
sonnets to make the bard weep
and ****** queens put love before country.

You should be reminded every day
that when the light glints off your irises in bleary wakefulness
a morning glory trembles in envy;
that your skin is the perfect canvas for a masterpiece
simply because you absorb colour;
brightness;
life
with each step you take
and hold it in your pores for the world to gaze.

I want to taste cigarettes on your tongue one day
and cool mint the next;
on the third you can hold me in place
and remind me what it’s like to be grounded,
then ******* away when you breathe laughter on my neck.

I want to feel your flighty touch
between the blades of my shoulders
and know your fear and courage
as you mend my splintered glass vertebrae.

I could give you mined stars,
but they’d only dim in the presence of your heart
(but let’s face it; I can only afford zirconia).
Instead I will give you islands of the purest sand
and the clearest waters,
where you can stand on hope without fear of falling
and forget the flavour of defeat;
mountains to climb when determination to achieve
finally prevails over the comfort of your shell;
libraries that solve all your dilemmas
yet leave you asking more questions than when you entered.

I will give you the world, for you have given mine.