if there could be a dream of you
i'd snap the threads
and sew them blissfully
into the unprecendented crevices
of my splintered tendons.
tantamount with deviant angels
you tenderly burned yourself
upon the longing fragile flesh
beneath my eyelids, emblazoned:
an aristocratic tattoo.
breathe your name into my ear
and i will press a kiss
upon your unknowing mind's eye
to bless you with my esteem.
i should think that life
is not enough so long as i
must spend hovering dreamlike
nights empty of your embrace;
could i perhaps become your self?
take my body from me,
for when not yours i mean nothing
and my skin is but a feeble,
crawling shell.
in the darkest hour, welcome me.
accept my foolishly blinded eyes,
my rapidly deadened lips,
my chipped and broken fingernails,
my softly furred earlobes,
my brittle strands of raining hair:
pluck them up and lovingly
drop them upon your tongue
and swallow me
piece by piece
into your beauteous waiting self.
i will hide in the gentle hollow
behind your sun-slicked corneas
and see all that you see
and whisper confidences to you.
if you let me i will creep
and slide over your tensing muscles
and carry your deafening fatigue
before you strain and crumple
in upon like yourself like a
fallen deck of playing cards.
i will live in the rushing blanket
of your electric coursing blood
and kiss your blushing arteries
and slide through every part of you
and sleep soundly in your toes.