I want to write a
nimble poem,
a shiny web of
words, without fluff or
fanfare, grounded and
drifting like the sands
of the Earth.
I want my delicate
collection to touch you,
tenderly, strum you like
harp strings; cold fingers,
a tickling chill, then the
envelope of the
warmest chord.
I want this poem to
reveal everything and
nothing about me, to
hold answers that only
unveil a crisp curiosity
that pesters
with new questions.
I want the whisper
of this poem to graze,
hot on your skin and cool
in your core.
I want this poem to
love you, ask you, hear
you. This poem
is what I crave
for you.
