Paint thy soul.

I’ll dip my fingers in blue ink and trace them all the way from the middle of your breast to the very end of your abdomen. I’ll draw circles, squares, and practice geometry against your dark skin. I’ll paint every inch of your skin with mathematical order of life, I’ll pick patterns and turn you into a conduit for my passage. I’ll roll you over dirty sheets until you paint your geography over them, then I’ll bury you into my chest, pull your hair aside and ask you to do the same to me. I want you whole, so maybe we can both do this to each other whenever the time is right, the clouds are thick and we share the same skies. I will bring colours, you can bring words. And maybe, just maybe, we can do more than what we both know.