This will only take a second to say:
I want to be your poetry
Your tangled black hair tucked away behind two ears
I want you to strip me naked and form words
With your tongue on the manuscript that is me
Then crumple me up, and throw me away
Only to dig me out in sudden realization
That the paper caught fire under your fingertips
Feed me to your mouth
Like a bread crumb to a bird
Savor my canines, pressed against flesh
Feel vulnerable, feel alive;
Find in me a busted down sanctuary
A warm hospice bed to rest your weary war torn fears
A soothing hand to bathe your feverish midnight fantasies
Swallow me in succulent pieces
Thick and rough against your throat
Hold me down inside of you
Until you fall apart
I want to be your poetry
The blue that binds your arteries
To the swollen redness of your heart
That steals your breath away from you
And bleeds in you as art