I wanted the words a thought ago, 
I wanted to skin myself and put 
your poetry between my bones and my flesh
and I wanted them to settle in there, 
burning into my soul. 

I wanted the movement. 
I wanted to wake up different every time
trying to live forever in every life.

I wanted the bandage to stay so my body
swells and rots underneath it, 
turning indigo and the stars of night
are just shots of pain. 

I wanted to be called a savage.
I wanted to feel blind in front of a face of beauty.

I wanted your compassion to be unreal. 
I wanted it to just be passion. 

I wanted to feel your face again.  To be 
in front of you with my eyes sewn shut, 
forcing my fingertips gently along your contours. 

And, slipping. 





I want to feel your face again.






I know, 
I have different voices of honesty.