He's my emotional contact lens,
His mind's new skin is sensitive.
He exposes hidden rooms
And finds new parts of me to give.

I never thought I'd be drawn out
Or come undone so easily.
His warmth is breath to my tired lungs,
And he can feel my poetry.

We analyze his waking dreams-
Try to comprehend what the symbols mean.

I have an alarmingly horrible soul,
But he wants it, and so I allow him to see.
His spirit was scattered by somebody else,
But he hunts for the pieces and gives them to me.