I dare you

to love me,
me with the needy eyes and the untamed hair,
your forget-me-nots slowly dying on the sill.
The sun slips through the littered room exposing
half-read books, half-bitten nails and there I am
hoping you’ll embrace the crumpled sheets
and crumbs.

Though my ears are filled with siren song
and my mouth spews wildfire, my nimble fingers
could make daisy chains with your body
if I just learned to sit still.
And I would swallow constellations, dot
the stars along your hairline and dance
in Taurus’ obliging twinkle.

But then
there are those long pauses waiting
to breathe, my weakness lying around us
like scorched earth, just to see if you’ll jump.
And there’s so little left that doesn’t ache
that I dare you
to find me
before I turn to ash.