I want to fly you to Persia on a magic carpet woven from my hair

I want to build you a Garden of Eden with a door,

so that temptation may never haunt you.

I want to show you the secret chambers of my heart,

so that you might never accuse me of privation.

I want to wash all of your dishes, always,

so numbing repetition might never ink your smiling eyes.

So that the grey sun in the grey sky on a grey Wednesday

might never make you blue.

I want to bring rainbows home for you,

so monochrome days never hack away at your soul.

I want to climb into your black dreams and catch you,

so that you never fall into midnight’s howl.

I want to feed you all you crave,

before desire becomes clawing need.

I want to love the same books as you,

so I can quote them nonchalantly and inspire your admiration.

I want to drink tea with you in London and Shanghai,

so that you never believe tea tastes better over there.

I want to make you drunk,

so that you know of euphoria and ephemeral abandon.

I want to take you to the moon,

so that you can drink in heady drafts of insignificance

and inebriating mouthfuls of humility.

I want to cut all of your enemies into little pieces,

before you can even invent them.

I want to show you where the children are buried,

so that you might be comforted by their quiet slumber.

I want to castrate all of the rapists,

so that your sundresses might always be worn with innocence.

I want to be your walking stick and your reading glasses,

to comfort you in the winter of your days.

I want to be your beating heart so that I can always be near you.

I want to love myself better so that you might love me better too.

I want to take you to see the edge of the world,

so that you might never fall away from me. ◊