otp: anchors


I draw lines on my fingers

and dots on my palms

flowers on the back of my hands

vines along the arm

poetry on my wrists

that i hide inside of gloves

till i stick them in a note

and seal it with a kiss

i braid flowers in the hair

of people on a page who exist

better than I do

I hold hands, I hold arms

and breathe in your smell

You see me floating off to nowhere

but your voice anchors me down

You tie a ribbon ‘round my waist

kiss my cheek

keep me safe