Sometimes,
when you are sleeping,
I write words on your back.
I write them with a
fingernail:
invisible,
indelible,
only I know that they're there.
If I've been a
bitch (as I often am),
they might be an
apology
full of
Hallmark Card sweetness.
Or, maybe, an
incantation to lust,
wanton and demanding, pressed
deep enough to wake, when I need you.
Mostly though, they are
meaningless words,
Just because it pleases me to write myself
Into the
page of your
skin.