A Poignant Plea

The possibility of someone knowing you more than I do shatters a million pieces through my soul.

It’s you that makes the delicate skin between my fingers surrender into countless shards, each reflecting a portion of your essence.

These tatters regularly dredge at the base of my feet, making a floor of this treacherous longing.

Its this same thought that rids me of functional action.

For if I dare move, I must claim you as my own in that very moment.

You must let me consume you. And in exchange, I too plead to be devoured.

To know you, they ought to encounter my stitched soul woven in the walls of your heart and go through the tunnel of our entangled flesh. That way, every inch of you they will discover will slightly be intertwined with me.

To find you is to know me.