Note to Self:

Do you truely only want one person to feel this?
These are not my scars, this is my beauty.
Open to the wind like a fesh razor burn.
Exchanging vulnerable romance with every glance, the only way to see is to be seen.
Fragile, red hot, molten iron cast into the anemic tepid waters.
Scalding steam thinning the veil, I feel you, we do not have to touch.
As I take shape, it is exactly what you desire, so don't forget, desire...
Alchemeic muse forging every new heart from lost whisper dreams.
These hands will hold.
These hands will mold.
These hands will wield you from the noun to your most sacred verb.
Right now, every square inch of my tapestry wants your painting.
Let me be your moon.