I want to make love to my buried self.


I want to draw her up.


I want to kiss her on the lips,
put her head against my *******.


I want to say
“It’s safe to come out now,”
fingers uncrossed, inviting.


Then
If she’ll let me
I want to press her so close
that atoms merge,
flesh swells;


The afterimages will float before my eyes
And she will stitch into my surface
like a second skin-
a shift in posture,
in the angle of my jaw.