I wanna hold your hand
I wanna be your man
I wanna be the sand that runs through your toes
Ending up in unsuspecting places of the crannies and folds of your clothes.
A chair is not a chair
A weave is not her hair
A burning house is not a flare when there’s no one standing close
To witness who was so lonely for attention that he’d torch his own abode.
I wanna kiss your face
I wanna run your race
I wanna occupy your space like some random thought
That public education, good nutrition and moderate exercise just bought.