I want to travel the open highways of your mind,
And get lost on the backroads.
I want to draw from the deepest part of your well,
And taste the bitterness of your almost forgotten tears on my lips.
I want to wander through the shadowlands,
To temp the fires that burn in the night.
I'll take my chances with the ghosts of your past.
I want to cover you like a blanket,
To wrap myself around you and hold you until our bones graft together —
ragged and crooked with old age.
I want to kiss your skin with my skin,
Like a thousand tiny conversations.
I want to look into your eyes,
And see the fine print stamped on your soul —
Words that tell me who you are,
Words that unlock the secret passageways of your mind.
I want to know the you that you love to be,
The secret part of you that hovers in the fringes —
Always watchful,
Always thoughtful.
I want to know what that you dreamt about when he was young and life was new.
I want to chip away the ragged edges,
And peel back the delicate layers.
I want to spend hours pouring through the boxes that house your mental chaos,
Boxes that are color-coded and labeled neatly.
I want I find the back room,
Where the files in the corner are messy and unorganized.
I want to put my fingerprints in the dust on their cases,
Like "Brittany was here."
I want to find the stretch marks from when God grew you.
I want to kiss those ragged scars —
Some fading,
Some pink and new —
And say, "Good job, God."
