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I know exactly
what I want to do.
I want
to finger paint on you.

I want to try out
every startling,

brilliant hue.

Perhaps I will start with
a piercing jolt of yellow
that would splay your neurons
into shock—
I could rewire you to be
electricity.

Then
comes the flash of red
that would kick your head
into a mess—
oh just you wait
for the frantic frenzy
I can project!

And then, there is blue—
manic splash to match
your coursing, pulsing veins—

Oh,

you.

Can I retain
the flash flood of color
these ardent hands contain?

Or do my hands cover
and contaminate—

painkiller
poison
paint?

This is what I do.
Who are you this time, Mister,

who?

I’ve got

to get
my hands
on you.