• Don't touch me.
    Your eyes, smile, skin - they're all so soft,
    and whenever we're close I feel as if I'm made of granite.
    Just chisel.
    Give me cheek bones that the rain will want to fall on
    and a mouth like a wish-bone that only ever breaks into a smile.
    I want to crumble under your fingertips
    until I'm disguised as dust in the dawn's light
    when really I'm asbestos,
    waiting for you to breathe me in
    so I can carve my name into your lungs.