look. I know I matter to you in some way. it glows a little in the back of your neck when I talk to you. and you smile. a lot. so much that it burns my tongue. and I can’t look at you. because I don’t want you to know. so I’ll just tell my memory card.

when I’m not thinking about running my fingernails along the skin of your back, I replay the image of you telling me your dreams. not expecting me to interpret them. just allowing me to glimpse through the keyhole and into your mind. I think of you, in the solitary wasteland of your subconscious, sand stuck in the soles of your boots, saltwater spray drying on your eyelashes, standing wordless with open thoughts before the great unknown beast of the sea. it’s beached. there’s no one but you and the gelatinous shell of a once living creature.

when I’m not thinking about getting stuck between you and a hard place, I think maybe I should draw you again. maybe this time, I can really memorize you. maybe this time, I’ll become a little more like you. and maybe you’ll remember me.

I am so fucking fascinated by you. by how God could have managed to piece so much wisdom and wonder into a puzzle so seemingly ordinary as you.

I want you to grind into me and burn me out from both ends.

I imagine how it would feel to sit in your lap and trace my finger along every visible vein and artery in your arm, press my thumb into your wrist and find where our hearts drum the same. you exist, and that’s what’s intoxicating to me — that’s why I wish I could count your heartbeat and let your stubble scratch my palm, why I wish we could lie naked in the desert and wait for the sun to find its way back to the morning. you are at once grounding and overwhelming. just imagining the bones in your fingers, the tendons in your neck sets my blood panting for air. just because you have a body. because you exist at the same time as I do. because our timelines merged for a moment in eternity flung in the air and you, for whatever reason, let me see a little bit of who you are.