I want you to love me
the way I love you through words.
Caressing each syllable, guiding
pen across softened edges of paper
imagining the indents of your vertebrae,
whispering sounds to life on my tongue.
I want this passion, like me half-naked,
damp towel falling off shoulder-blade bones
as I am now, writing to know you
and your existence as I know these breaks
and lines of poetry. Wanting you to know
me through the echoes of empty pages
waiting to be filled.