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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