journey

tangled locks of hair wrapped around my blackened fingertips

the same that have smoothed out  the lines on your forehead

and have left dark shadows inside the dimples in your cheek

i’m not an artist and the world won’t know my name

but right now you are my canvas and i want my fingers to

map out a journey across your knuckles and down your spine

(and behind your ear, i will leave my name)

(in case you get lost and need to find your way back to me)