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?