If thoughts were paper boats,

I’d catch one by its sail,

And gently steer it,

Towards the light that plays peekaboo,

On your skin,

That waltzes against mine,

Stubble scathing through the softness,

Till I can smell your breath,

Contouring my face.

Towards rehearsed words,

That sound so different,

When spoken out loud,

Warm like the back of your neck,

Vivid like the goosebumps on your skin,

That surge and settle,

Like radial ripples on the surface of water.