teach me how to love you show me how to hold your heart without breaking off pieces without damaging you in ways i can’t fix. tell me how to kiss you. if you like to kiss with teeth and tongue and hot open mouths if you like to kiss soft and quiet, under bedsheets in between sunset and sunrise. or if you don’t like to kiss at all. if the press of lips against lips isn’t intimate enough to make your soul ache. tell me if you prefer the sliding of palms over bare bodies. if you prefer the nakedness of my soul over the nakedness of my body. teach me how to know you write down the words that i should never say, the words that makes your skin too tight and crawl across your brittle bones whisper into my neck the things you can’t speak out loud. the secrets that break your ribs and kick in your chest until you can’t breath. i want to know what makes you ache and what makes you believe in goodness