Fingertips outstretched.

Come closer.
Closer.
I want to see where I made the blue and green meet,
and the freckle I put in your eye.
I want to see the ridge I created your nose with,
the little bit of rose I put under your cheeks,
and the three stray eyebrow hairs you say you hate.
Be that close to me.
Come closer.
Because I want to tell you,
that that feeling?
The knot underneath your ribs that strangles your breathing;
those things that somehow seem to force themselves
between your stomach and the very bottom of your lungs.
It doesn’t matter where they came from.
It doesn’t matter if it was a mother or a fiancé,
it doesn’t matter if it was self-inflicted or Hate himself.
I can use that.
I will use that.
Because you will have nowhere to go but to come closer,
and I can adore that freckle in your eye.