I want to trace the back of your hands, hold your arms, and know where you've been.
I want to make countries out of you: draw them in double dimensions on your back
with my fingers. Maybe if I can carry your weight, the world wouldn't be so heavy.
If I can hold you up, I can hold cities. And the little spot of skin on your neck that I
love to kiss is the concave crescent where civilization started. Your sighs are the fall
of empires when we fall away. Your breathing the push and pull of the moon, and I
can feel the ocean against me.
No comments:
Post a Comment