if they cut me wide wide open,
they would still find your fingerprints
like track marks
bruising me perfectly:
tattoos on my retinas from your smile,
engravings on my teeth from your kiss.
if we were keeping score,
they'd base it on your handprint on my hip
on the secrets in my knees
on the guesses it takes for me
to figure out what's in your pockets.
you're no Bilbo, but you'd still be ahead
they'll say one! two! three!,
fast and empty
and we both know i will let you win.
if we were a fairytale,
you'd be offering me a pomegranate.
It would only be a moment before i let you in.
i'd watch the light play off your face
and we'd both know i'd take it before you got bored.

if i could show you one more time,
see your imperfect and beautiful features,
your large, strong, knobby fingers,
the way your smile lingers,
view all of it through a possesive lens
(but not the type that comes without true possession),
if i could have that one more time,
no candles or romance,
just you, one more time,
i think i'd be satisfied.