J and S. Stands for Just Sayin’

Imagine, if you will,
my skin sewn to yours. Stitched with no real
surgical skill. Lumpy and uneven, but held together
well. Bruised and swollen, but held.
Imagine if you will,
two minds merged in the fire of a kiln,
each shaped by different hands, white
skeletal master pieces connected
by heat, fire, life and pain.
Imagine if you will, that I took hold of your hand
and I refused to let it go. That I jerked with you as you
pulled and tried hard to deny me the pleasure
of knowing that I can feel you breathe.
Imagine if you will, that if you held my hand,
I would help you breathe.
You disappear into your oceans and your
papers and your alone time and your words,
and you resurface just to check the sky has not fallen.
Imagine if you will,
that I would hold up the sky. Even if the rest of
the world crumbled around us. You would be alright.
And I would still be able to hold your hands.
Send letters of worth describing beauty.
Hear you breathe,
because really, my lamb, that is all I want.
Your face to hold a smile that I am responsible for,
because I still qualify as being bad ass.
Your soul and your mind are not my puzzle,
but the eyes that they sit behind are my
precious Greek topaz to be loved.
No crying. No leaving.
No running.
You have consistently stood as my advocate,
and stands to reason that we are cemented in the same
stars. Don’t let go, and I wont either.