For A Muse

If you let me,
I’d kiss your hands
and the insides of
your palms until
my lips are engraved in your
pores, until the taste of
your skin is the first thing
that hits my tongue
every morning.
You don’t need to hold my
hand to your chest again
so I’d feel that rapid
beating threatening
a near explosion.
I can feel it elsewhere.

The fact of the matter is;
you’re beautiful
and
I’m scared of you.