blehh

I want to peel away
the layers of fabric, skin, tissue
so I can see you
raw, vulnerable and tender
I dream, to me, you would do the same
gently I would hold you close
so when we grew those layers back
we would become one
Stranger of the poetess kind,
Is it strange through your pain, you have spoken to me?
Your words echo through the chambers of my mind. Fantasies, it seems, is all they will ever be.