Kiss me. Kiss me — with reckless abandon, with the sole purpose of hearing me sigh, with two fingers on the nape of my neck and an arm wrapped around my waist. Pull me flush, pull me close and closer and closest. Meld my body against yours and indulge in the softness that makes me up, dig your fingers into my hips and walk me backwards and let my knees hit the edge of luxury.
No teeth. Never teeth — if I bleed it's a goddamn honor you witness it, if I bleed it's because I chose to. If I'm glass, then it's broken, and I will draw blood you would be lucky to lick from me. Treat me gently, lover, treat me softly. I am soft and sweet and you will never call me indulgence lest I give you a cavity. Let your lips trace words on my skin; my language is words, I am writ between the lines of every piece I've created and you have to pick me out.
Did you pick me? You must have, for me to call you lover — I pick my people wisely and the title of lover is not one I give easily. The sight of me and my personhood and my soul is something I let few see, the sight of my body I let fewer see. Have you seen it? Have you seen pieces of it? Lucky you, lucky — did you count yourself lucky? Are you counting the stars now?
Do I sing for you? I have stage-fright, lover — if I sing for you then it is with shaking vibrato, chock full of raw nerves others have plucked at, nerves I bare to you because I want to. Do I sing? Do you let me harmonize? I find my way every time; I am only off key when you are unfamiliar or change our rhythm. Don't change our rhythm without warning me, lover, lest I fall out of tune.
Have I gifted anything to you? Have I picked you out? I keep a list, lover, I keep a list of all my people and their personhood and the things that make up them. I pick my people out, I pick them and I keep picking them so they understand they have been. I keep them, too — close to my heart, safe against my chest. Are you against mine? You must be — I call you lover.
Do I love you with abandon? Do you know it? You will know it — I am intense, I am too much, I am full of muchness and love and abandon. Consider it a blessing, my darling, my lover, for me to love you with abandon. I am reckless in my love, doing it unconditionally and wholeheartedly. I would let you break my heart for the privilege of loving you with the abandon I throw myself into.
Is my cooking a love language you are learning? I learned from generations of mothers before me — will you make a mother of me, too? Will you raise a generation to learn from and who will learn from me? Do you watch me cook — I liken myself to a kitchen witch, there is a magic about me in the kitchen — and do you see the mothers before me guiding my hand? I cook for an army; we are a military family, beloved. There are always wounded to pull in and heal with the magic that can be performed with a wooden spoon and a smattering of spices. Let me speak to your soul, lover, let me cook for you.
Will I dress up for you? I rub remnants of rubies in the corners of my eyes and line them in ink, so the green of them is vivid and striking. I make my eyes something worth looking into and seeing — do you see me? What do you see? How do you like it? Do you like it, lover? I dress up for you, so you must; I dress up for me, so you must. Ask and it will be, take me out and show me off and twirl me around and let me laugh and let me cry. I have not been taken or twirled or tasked with beauty in so long.
Have you seen me grieve? I am lost in grief, lover. I grieve for humanity, I grieve for me. Have you seen it? I do not cry in front of others, I bare my teeth in a smile when I do — I bare my teeth, I grin and I bear it. Have you heard it? Have you seen the way my body shakes, have you seen the way I grip myself to hold pieces I have seldom just replaced together? Even my wife did not see; they did not care to see me grieve. Do you care? Will you grieve with me?
I love compliments, lover, but I will never ask. I will always answer, I will never ask. I will give, I will receive — I will not ask. Call me pretty. Call me lovely. Tell me about myself; the highest compliment is being seen, being known. What do you know? How do you see me? What color am I to you? Do you see me? Is it hard to? I make myself easy to learn, I believe — tell me if I'm wrong. Tell me how to let you know me.
Do you listen to the music I love? Do you hear me in it? Do you read my words? Do you see me in them? I am between the lines, I am embedded in the notes. Have you read my favorite book? Would you listen to me talk for hours? You have to coax it out of me; I listen so well, I want to learn all of you — show me that you want to learn all of me, too.
Have you slept alongside me? This is the test, lover, this is what I will measure you by. My friends have, my friends know I sleep with blankets kept together with nostalgia and dreams, that I hug parts of the littlest version of me and bury myself in pink fur to sleep. My pillowcases were made by my mother, my bedspread is one I picked — I wear nothing but shirts my father handed down and I let my cat lay where she pleases. Did I invite you into my bed? Have I built a pillow fort with you? Have I planned to? This is the test, lover — my friends see me here, at my most vulnerable, and there is not an inch of my body you will see before you can hold the parts of me I keep sacred.
If you allow me, I will embed pieces of me into you. I ask that you do not let me — I ask that you return them to me. I ask that you do not give me yours; I will let them bleed me out when I bury them in my heart to keep you close to me. I ask of you, lover; hold me, keep me, but do not take me.
Do you love me? Are you worthy of the title of lover? I am. I am; I am my own. I know me, I hold all of me. I haven't always, this is new to me. This is new. Are you new to me? I am new to me, too. There is so much to love, isn't there? So much to keep. So much to hold. Are your hands full? If they are not; are you doing it right? There is muchness in me, lover. If you are not overflowing — overflow with me, please.
I do not beg for the bar set on the floor. Not anymore. My bar is raised — attainable, but raised — and if you cannot stand on the other side and remain eye level with me, then I need you to look above and answer all the questions I've asked. They are simple, beloved. I love with reckless abandon — do not be reckless and abandon my love.
