When you talk to me with sex in your voice
but the words come out just friends
I grieve for my wasted heart
as it crosses the empty finish line,
beating wildly under banners.

Let me hold you, butterfly,
cup you in my closed hands.
Until you have changed into the form
you finally feel comfortable in.
Your skin should be your own.

I will love you in light or dark,
open or closed.
Perhaps I should be letting go,
but all I know how to do
is keep my lips near to the phone.

01/10/2016

Author's Note: For MJ

Posted on 01/11/2016
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