This poem
Is like
My fingertips
In words
Dancing across
Your ribcage
As you
Are sleeping
My minds
Whispering pleasure
Of things
I imagine
To be
One thing
Despite their
Being another
This poem
Is like
My fingertips
In words
Dancing across
Your ribcage
As you
Are sleeping
My minds
Whispering pleasure
Of things
I imagine
To be
One thing
Despite their
Being another