I want to write you love letters, lilac and sun-dried, sent from the stomach of summer to warm your pockets. I want to expose myself — unbutton, unlace, undo — I want to crack my ribs open one by one. I want to go deeper. I want to mean it the way I mean it when I kiss you and my lips are pearl plated gates and I let you in. And yes, I’m a mere mortal, and I’m not much more than blood and guts and bones, but I want to be. I want to be more. Because you deserve more. And I used to write please and I used to write come home… and I used to write for boys. So, please, forgive me — no one has taught me how to write for a man.