Origami

I’ll put you on a wooden hanger
and hide you deep in my closet
among sweet scents of my white
shirts, pastel cardigans, summer
dresses. Then I’ll take you out in
the morning, to put you on my
fresh awaken body and wear you,
feel you on my skin, all day long.

Or maybe, my love, I should fold
you into a vivid African origami
and use you as a bookmark that
will trace our last page together
so that I don’t ever forget where
exactly we had stopped reading.

There are many ways how to keep
you safe from danger: I can braid
you into my hair, paint you red on
my lips or hide you in my dimples.

I can spread you evenly on my bread
or sprinkle you on homemade donuts.
Darling, you can melt in my tea and
I’ll drink you hot in slow, delicate sips.

No need to worry even if we are out
in the streets and the police come,
for I’ll unhurriedly light you up like
a cigarette, nonchalantly smoke you
in front of their suspicious pale faces,
then breath you out free into cold air.

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