You don’t understand what you do to me. You take my skin and wear it like a tongued kiss to steal. I don’t know what you need from me, I don’t know what I can give to you. I want to spread my legs for you and like it. You’re red upholstery to stick to on a sunny day when there’s nothing ahead but miles waiting, horizons waiting to be superseded with the logic of an oncoming train. You’re the crunch of gravel under bare feet in winter, icy shocks I stand up straight to harden my souls for. If I could have another you, I would do it. Splice your genes dripping from my lips as clear sticky syrup so I might look you in the eyes, destruction in my wake, knowing I could keep you. It seems hard, but maybe it’s time for you to spend a lonely night alone and awake. You were kind enough to comfort me, you were sweet enough to desire me. It might be time to set yourself in my position. Staring at the ceiling, trying to imagine where your dreams are going. I know your hair is mingling on hard pillows, a colour match scented with perfume. Maybe you’ll curl like I do, trying to bury yourself in your own flesh to take your mind away from an impending end half a city away. Instead of feeling alone over washed cotton sheets, sometimes I want to walk naked outside in the rain, walk parting the waters like a biblical saint. I want to kiss you to sleep. Instead of this, I want to hold your body close to mine and sink my teeth into your breath. You are remarkable, you are holy to me. I don’t know how to remember.