A tendency to get ahead of myself

You must look me in the eyes and tell me 

not to get too confident now,

Or I will

I will confidently suck the marrow from your bones

and twirl your name around my head, find it at the tip of my tongue, at the part of my lips. 

I feel nice to touch because my flesh loves you

I won’t bite

But my leg will tap against the tip of your shoes

And at the notion of your touch, blood will beat against my skin

My body cannot withstand my hunger. I long to slip into yours

I use a particular shade of purple to scribble the prettiest parts of a day.

You strike me as purple, or did I just paint you that way?

It serves me well to be certain, so I will ask:

What is it I do that drives you mad? 

If you can’t name at least five, you must let go of me now,

let the ground break me before I bury myself beneath it,

hoping to hear your footprints