I want to know your story. I want to see your eyelids flit open and shut, touch them as delicately as I do the pages of my favorite book, which on second thought isn’t all that delicately due to my tendency to regard everything in a sort of tumultuous manner, because it is only worth loving if it can handle me. I want to open your mouth and climb into it, navigate across your teeth like they are mountains in that place I have always wanted to go backpacking through and slide down into you and get lost in your story.
