Action and Adventure

You wanted to be
Indiana Jones
when you were little.
Sifting my hands through
your mind felt like archaeology;
I wanted to discover
ancient artifacts in your veins,
uncover lost civilizations
in your bones,
there were hidden
cities inside of you
that I could not wait to call
home.

You were never afraid
of anything
but me - soft bodied, warm
blooded, and entirely
too passionate for you.
I would have demanded
the secrets, insisted on
detail and analysis
and a brief history of your
personal ruins.
I would have run
my fingers up your arms,
tracing your veins to your
shoulders, leaving my mark
like childhood hand prints in
wet cement. When I put my mouth
to your ear, and whisper
“I love you,” you would have felt
like candlelight,
warm and flickering.
There are still landmines buried
just beneath my surface.
I’m afraid you’ll realize that I’m
just a mess of silky skin
and porcelain bones
and leave me
for something that
you can't possibly hurt.

You will fall into
her bed, careful
and careless like autumn
leaves, and I’ll go back to
writing poems about boys
who cannot make my
last name taste like red wine.