You wanted me to write something for you
that could cut deep and soothe all at once,
but you know that I don't ever
believe in ever penning half measures.

I don't want to write about butterflies
or go on about how fates meet.

You have loved me at my worst,
that's exactly where I should start.

How you saw something shimmering
through the countless broken fragments
that still spill through my heart,
how you touched those jagged edges
without ever once hesitating.

It will mean more to me than describing
the way your neck cranes into my kiss,
the lightning charging through my veins
at the mere sound of my name
passing through your soft lips
as the most intimate hymn.

You wanted me to write for you,
something that could never hide
beneath metaphor or mingled fiction,
a piece of me culled and imprinted
from my most vulnerable core.

I don't want to go on about butterflies
or write about how fates meet.

You loved me before we met,
that's exactly where I should start.

How it's as if billions of unseen gears
turn a world over to allow our meeting,
or how fingertips just know how
to soothe the creases and folds
of such a tired unraveled soul.

How you traced along the darkness
to leave me bursting with light,
to cover you in possession's fiery rain.

It will mean more to me
that you didn't run then.

It will mean much more to me
than a mutual oblivion of shuddering release
or the way limbs braid and cling afterwards,
or describing a lover's face once sleep
has pulled you under a dreamless tide.

You want me to write something for you
that could perhaps say this all
and something more than words,
but I don't believe in half measures.

I don't want to write about butterflies
or make promises about how fates meet.

You have always loved me,
that's exactly where I should start.