He breathes flower petals
into my mouth
and I do the same to him,
but I don't think the rosy and posy
in my lungs the way they're
spiraling in his. He says he's in love
with my crystalline smile
and the iridescent sheen of my skin.
He tells me he likes the way my laughter jingles
along the tips of his fingers,
and rests in the space between my collar bones.
You're my muse, he says.