Like one would into a cashmere sweater
Languidly, almost dragging out the seconds of non-friction
Because it's always loose lips and white noise with me
Too much static, only to get lost in the airwaves from time to time
I love your stubby fingers for their strong hold on beliefs, for
Mine are long but crooked and bent
In more ways than one
Almost everything slips between them.
I love your lips,
the parentheses of your smile.
What they lack in width they make up in height of the words you speak
Vowels seem taller than they normally should,
Especially those in my name.
Mine are too full, and I bite them
too often as if it were penance for how empty I am inside.
I love your teeth for what they promise, that I could induce happiness even if I may never conduct it
I love them, even if they might draw blood.
I love you, even if you might walk away.
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