sjsprWriting

i want to be loved

thoroughly and unconditionally:

obsessively.

i want to be a mystery—

the one he can’t breathe

without solving.

i want to stain his eyelids

the way stars stain

the sky: brightly and

loudly and

permanently.

i want him to worship

my inconsistencies:

how i hiccup when i laugh

and forget to breathe.

or the way my heart

beats.

i want to print braille

onto his arms with my

feather-light touches,

so that he can’t stop running

his hands over his skin

to feel every mark

i’ve left, over and

over and

over

again.

and i want our skin to

burst into flames

at the lightest of touches,

and have him feel

the stars

at my fingertips.

i want him to press

his ear at the base

of my chest and hear

the ocean echoing inside

my ribcage.

i want him to exhale

in great, shuddering

breaths when

around me

like he is a supernova,

and i am his explosion.

i want to be his muse,

his source of solace,

his downfall,

his anything

(his everything)

and all the while,

i want to feel

nothing.