If I sit very still, can I watch you undress?
If I stapled my feelings to my sleeves and let them hang off me like cut puppet strings,
would you still watch me get dressed?
but you, are just a landscape of pale skin stretched over white bones.
I could spend my days skimming, drifting, with my fingertips across the dry ice of your subtle flesh.
just you, with your technicolour eyes that hypnotize the light of a thousand irises that form our compound mind.
I could cut you off and let you fall, let you float away.
I would blink and you’d be gone in a swirl of historical mist
and then eventually it will just be a memory of a feeling and presidents would debate if the feeling was ever really real.
We could get married. To different people.
and you will sit across a chess match of desire and sing the hopeless phrases to mobsters and gods and any one who will listen because I have something to say and you,
are not listening.