I would save your words, like a letter
If you spoke them
The way your eyes light my skin
I would write a prose that would drive the greats to their edge
I would illuminate my imperfections
With a warmth that allows acceptance
I would save your smell.
The way you say my name.
It drifts from your lips and sounds sweeter than anyone has ever said
But
I question the home it comes from.
Why?
I’ve been reaching out for someone like you for a long time
But Im afraid for my hands
They sing in the air, but what would be left
If emptiness was earned from their grasp?
The colors they’ve touched
Have painted you in a dream
And what would happen
If I had picked the wrong brushes?