I have an eclectic palette

But you’re the only taste that matters

I used to roll my eyes when they said

A lover can be your refuge 

I thought turbulence feeds my drive 

But here we are

And it’s everything to feel safe in your arms

No more flight or fight with shaking hands

And anxiety, an egg in my throat 

A sickness that spreads

It always gives back 

Feeding its...

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My hands are patterned by ambitions,

these lines on my skin are wishes,

palms marked like the sky after a shooting star

and shining when they interlace with your fingers,

your skin's wrinkles and crinkles.

The crevices of our skin do not match or meet

the way coloured paths on a map synchronise and intercross,

reaching destinations.

We are separate pieces of meat

but

...

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