You’re the hand I tried to hold in a dream once.
You’re the language my mother taught me
but lack of practice helped me unlearn.
I should have called you sooner,
all polite, telling you that you should come
watch the world dissolve with me.
That you should come forget the bad until
there’s none of it left.
I keep telling myself to stop writing about love,
but how else is anyone gonna know
what you’re doing to me?
All of this beg and beg and plead.
All these hands and nowhere to put them.
Lend me your skin,
and I’ll give you my honest and my brave.
There are over six thousand languages
in this world,
and I still can’t believe we belong to
the same one.
I want to talk to you until I run out of voice.
I want to hold you until I run out of skin.
There are a lot of ways to stop loving someone.
I don’t want to learn any of them with you."