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.