a mark on my arm is left unsigned, a few on my cheeks, my forehead and two bruised between my legs. they don’t carry your name, but the heat of your breath. every time we consume each other and lie within the same borders, we pin time briefly  in a tender, damp hold. it does scare me how familiar it feels. sometimes i wonder if holding without doing  would undo us. if i could know it’s you  if all you did was stay. we wouldn’t stand a chance outside the museum spotlight, both of us without watch. i stay put in our secret scenarios, not because i lack the courage, but because i know their shape. i don't ask for more,  but i imagine instead: with careful hands, your name written on my skin, your eyes on my face as if it were part of the body  you already learned. it began in october. the fall isn’t loyal —it expires. and the cold doesn’t hurt —it only makes room. /// i’d want to meet you, see what the fuss is about. i’d like to prove everyone wrong, but you lau...