Good Intentions

Being gentle isn’t something I ever did well,

But I made damn sure to bring my touch down

To a smolder and crack open your chest

With cool, still hands.

I never thought my favorite sight

Would be the trees protruding from your chest

Or the vines intertwined between

Each of your ivory ribs,

All the way to your spine.

“I’ve never been this far before,” And each

Word is punctuated by a chirp from every

  Other bluebird perched along the canopy

Of your sternum.

Your exhale stirs a gentle breeze

And I’m dancing through you to its rhythm.

I know my touch is warmer than your summer air,

But I can’t resist running my hands

Over the green of your leaves.

“I know this hurts.”

I never intended for my fire

To make smoke billow from your lungs but

I let the fire spread past the flowers

Growing out of your pores.

I’ll sit and watch you burn.