A love note I will not send

I want to be the lash that fights the dust on the plains of your almond eyes,
I want to be the Moroccan oil that polishes your cheek, the oasis that you keep,
I want to be the strawberry balm that anoints your lips, that tells the wind “no” and the sun “yes”,
I want to be the sinew beneath your chest, yes, the arch in your feet wherever you tread.

I want the air in your lungs to go stale without the residue of my breath in your veins.
I want to be the blood that makes your marrow wet.
I want eternity in the times we have.