All this me is making I sick.
Too much I.
Too much me.
Too much self.
The secret thoughts that you think
when you’re on your very own,
write them on my skin,
write them in long silky letters
looped and curved,
And I’ll read them when I have the heart.
When I have a heart.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 
I like this one. It’s very similar to one I wrote once.
Thank you.