I’ve never been one to play it safe; strike your fingers across the heat of my skin and tell me you don’t like to dance too close to the flames; that the same desire flickering in my eyes is not found inside the nights that render you cold. Lend me your mind and let me unfold the ache you shroud in woollen attire, pretending the itch doesn’t exist, like you don’t long to tear away the prickled stitches and expose the rawness beneath; the thoughts you have scratched until they bleed, pleading for relief. The rush of the unknown supersedes the need for clean hands and I read the words you do not speak in the sound of every heartbeat leaping from your chest; unleashed like coins tossed into fountain. Wishes heaved to the bottom of murky water. Altars of the mortal. Portal to that which we utter to the skies with the rise and fall of each breath. You tell me you are falling for the wildness behind my eyes, so come closer to the fire. I’ve never been one to play it safe.