I trace my hand down your spine
Like reading braille, my fingertips lightly pressing each vertebrae
Feeling for the place, the spot, where I am.
I don’t want you to think about me.
I don’t want to live in your mind, turning over and over like waves.
Memories, images, turn to dust in the mind- they become muddled, dirty versions
of the perfect original.
I don’t want you to love me.
I don’t want to live in your heart, burning, boiling, bursting
with false perfections and idolization.
There is no place for my soul in a love potion fairy tale.
I don’t want you to desire me.
I can’t exist on your skin like a paper thin moment of ecstasy.
I am not bliss. I am fire and ice. I am teeth and tears gifted in soft tissue paper
I am not fleeting.
I want you to be moved by me.
Changed by me, altered and forever amended by me.
Let me live in your nerves, in your backbone. Let my soul ignite yours.
Let me exist in your very center, true north for the once lost boy.
So that even when you are blind to everything,
You will still be able to read me.