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.