I open up. I desire. I expire. This is what I do. This is what I have always done.
‘“I love you,” you said, and I felt it in my spine. It curled. “Do you love me too?” you said, but I didn’t answer. I gave you my eyes, my throat, my cheeks. I felt you in all of my muscles. I took you into my cartilage and neurons. I opened up my cells and locked you there. I gave you everything.
“Do you love me?” you asked again and again. Words, only words.
Words have been taken from me too often and I do not give them lightly. I sealed my lips. I did not give you your words, although I gave you everything I had.
I open up for you. I desire all that you give me. I expire beneath you. We merge, we migrate, we transcend. And still you want these words from me.
No.
