I think I would like
To write the word “love”
On the inside of my forearm,
Over the cracks in my porcelain fraud,
So that the letters might fill the gaps
And color what lies beneath.

I’d like to stain my fingertips with love,
And trail them along every wall,
Over every surface I pass,
So that I never leave anything more
Than the gentlest admiration
In my wake.

I’d like love to tint my eyes
Valentine heart red,
So that I might be blinded to hatred
In all it’s ugly forms,
And instead see only gentleness
In the eyes of strangers.

I’d like to cast my spine in love’s steel,
Because I know **** well
It is anything but soft.
And let it stand me up tall
Let me never be ashamed of it
In any form it comes.

Fill my veins with love,
Pump it through my body
Like ******’s newest form,
So that I can get high on the idea
That everything is made of pure
Beauty.

Forgive me, for I have since forgotten.
I have traded in my inkblood for parchment
I have starched the graffiti from my walls,
Ignored calls from long-dead poets,
Because I never quite quoted them the way that I was meant to.
I have bent to the divine quill, my fill of pretty words
Has overflown into untouched urns and silent monasteries.
Forgive me, for I have banished my sword-drawn histories
I have untangled the vanquished threads of my revelry.
This verse is an apology.
This verse is my best memory.