I want to pitch a hammock in between your two front teeth;
becoming an accessory to your smile.
I want to lay there and listen to you mumble lyrics to songs I've never heard;
Taste the Parliaments that funnel smoke into your paper lantern lungs.
I want to pluck the splinters from your grimy hands only to envy their closeness to you,
Kayak through the valleys of your tender palms,
Drink wine from your wrinkled wrists,
Run marathons along the ridge of your spine, and
Climb to the top of your widow's peak; pausing only to admire the view.
And as I tire. . .
I want to fall beneath the sheets of your bed and become friends with the dust bunnies;
Tell them about the beauty they could witness if only they made their way to the surface.
And in the small of your back I will lay my head and dream of your crooked smile.
I'll hold you close and breath in your silence,
Fog your glasses with my Bacardi breath, shielding you from the shit of this world.