I want to count the
freckles on your shoulders.
Glowing in the
morning light.
Get lost in the
constellations they make
in this bubble of
reckless freedom.
I want to remember
the way
you kissed my
tattoos.
Reminding me that you
accept every fragment
I’ve tried to put
back together
with needles and ink.
I want you to look at
me again.
Like you’re surprised
and amazed to find me lying there.
Hoping you can’t hear
my heart
beating a new tattoo
on my ribcage.
I want to feel you
shiver
From just one small
touch of your side.
Fingertips exploring.
Writing secrets only
our bodies can read.
I need you to know
what it means.
Not past tense.
Never past tense.
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