I like the way Jesus would swing
back and forth and hit my neck with a cold touch
and his hot breath on my face while his lungs filled
before he sunk into my lips again.

I like how he walked an hour from his house
to my back door
because his bike had a flat tire
just to tell me he wanted a hug.

I like when he whispers to me
instead of talking so everyone else can hear,
even in public.

and when he said to me
“I don’t want to know your secrets,
because I know you have some, baby.
I don’t want to know you because then
I can have you like you are now to me.
Flawed
and imperfect to the world,
and perfect for me.”

He said
he likes it when I dig in my nails,
because the pain reminds him he’s alive
and he can really feel me.

Secretly, I like digging my nails in,
I like to know I can hurt him
a little
and he won’t stop
and leave me.

I like that I can ask him to slow down
and he’d pick me up instead
and carry me for a while
before I ask if I can walk again.

I like when he asked
“Can I get closer to you?”
and I nodded,
so he slipped his hands,
as cold as they were,
under my shirt and around my hips
to the small of my back.
Because he likes to let me know I’m his.

I like how he pulls my face close,
a little too tightly in his grip sometimes,
to say he loves me.

I like how he closes his eyes when he says it,
so he can’t see my face

when I can barely say I like him.