He speaks saxophone
And I want to be his favorite Nina Simone song.
Maybe “Feeling Good” or “Wild is the Wind”,
Want him to breathe me.

Let me be a memory,
He will tell grandchildren about,
As he becomes the wrinkles at the corners of my eyes,
Proof of smiles and sunlight

I want to be his un-chartered, un-finished city
But only if he’ll be my architect
Kissing blueprints onto my spine
I want him to be a town I’ve never visited
And I refuse to be a tourist in,
One, that one day, I will call home

Let him be fire, I will be air
So together we will be fire-breathers
Sun eaters, holding stars in our mouths,
Smoke speakers, teachers of interlocking elements.

-Elizabeth Acevedo-