I like you best when your lines are blurry,
and your words melt from mouth to air
when your ambiguities let me taste my
own dreams on your tongue
when I can slip my hands between
your cracks and draw you out, like
pulling taffy, like pulling the blinds
in my bedroom.
Once, I baked you cookies that you said
would give you migraines, and I
wondered what a life without
chocolate would be like, wondered if
someday, you will be like a vaccine, and I’ll
have had enough for my body to learn to reject.