moving

I love the people who have loved me for more than they see. Im struggling to maintain this shape and still they touch what they can and call it beautiful made-up faery names, adding to my library of facets, and breath me in and out and still don’t ask me to be one or the other. I fear when you claim a space to vast questions get lost, wander like stray puppies without a home. I want to occupy that space that has no name nor one single direction of desire, and i'd pitch my tent over more than one country, one land, lake, forest, LOVE. I don’t want to stay, or be stuck, or be caught, or be trapped, but be moving, in between directions, desires, and wishes and minds and bodies. And please one last time, leave this face behind, to try out some other ones.