Heat

they said
"You're the worst thing to happen to my writing."
I didn't understand what they spoke of, until
I put my pen to paper only to trace your name
to see how your last and my first look like the best poetry i could write.
because it rings in my ears like it should have when I was still in middle school.

all that comes out is a stream of consciousness
and I'm in a broken boat without a paddle
floating past lover's metaphors and eloquent verbal melodies
I just wave at the banks of syntax
as i flow past anything decent enough to perform

Maybe it would help if I told you that I'm new to all of this.
I have no idea what I'm doing
and I thought that when it was right, I would know
but this- feels so damn perfect.

But I should warn you- I may be more innocent than I seem.
I've yet to know how it feels to be caught up in the moment
bodies intwined, defenseless and silent
to go past the point of no return.

that being said:
I want you to make me sweat.
have my desire for you pour through my pores
so that the shimmers on my skin
look like heat waves rising off the pavement
and I'll think that you're a mirage.

I want you to know the roads of my body
not just the well traveled highways of my face and my hands
that all eyes have traveled over.
I want you to know the unlit backroads
that you can only find by taking the long way home.
but understand that some drivers don't know the meaning of the word respect
they blazed past yield warnings and through red lights
leaving skid marks on my psyche.
But I've since let the water wash away and fill the cracks in the pavement.

So
I want you to turn me into a storm
let your fingertips send lightning bolts through my chest
the thunderous response will be a purr in my throat
your name, murmured into the rain
that trickles from my shoulders to my legs, like the path of your eyes
when you put me in a bed of rumbling clouds.

I want you to make me your fireplace.
wrap me around the heat that burns so bright in the night
the one that flickers in the windows of your eyes
flames that licks the bricks with soft tendrils
leaving an ashy charcoal
the perfect tool to write with

I'll turn you into a poem.
each curve of your body etched onto the page
make your mind into a metaphor
swirl your soul with the ink of my pen
translate your love into letters
that i'm almost too scared to let leave my lips.

so these words are said with apprehension
in hope that the fingers that snap together
will turn into flint and tinder
starting sparks to ignite your fire
that keeps me so inspired
keeps me standing up here;
knowing that I have the courage
to stand naked in front of a crowd
to strip myself down in front of strangers
but I'm afraid to let you touch me
to learn the secrets of your skin
but when I'm finally brave enough
know that I won't hesitate to let you in.