For thy soul desires to sit bare, clothed in skin cocooned under the warmth of a duvet touched a thousand times. To drizzle romanticized words on a white canvas and to sip tea of grinded old green leaves.

And If as time fleets and waste settles into my bones, I’d love for sugar to meet my lips and the sickly sweetness to the edge of my chapped lips. To show you my calloused, imperfect skin and sun-burnt patches that liters thy yellowed skin.

But my musings of you, are just mere musings when you’re a thousand miles away, oblivious to my yearns.