I have found you
can find love for anyone
who shows their naked soul.
Every bare rattled bone, the
scarred knees
and gaps between fingers. The
roadmap of freckles on
their cheeks. Becoming acquainted
with the flowers curling
through their ribcage,
making bouquets of their virtues.
And maybe it’s my heart,
my bleeding, spilling heart,
searching for recompense.
My heart, giving and giving my love,
begging for just a little in return.
To be known is to be loved,
or so they tell me.

But here I remain
unknown.