I Want You

Good god, do I want you.

I want to feel your skin under my fingertips.

I want to breath your air. Taste your tongue.

I want to look at you, just look at you, marveling at the work of art you are.

I want to see how those dark, silky locks feel between my fingers as I brush through your hair.

I want to cup a breast in each hand, gently learning what your nipples feel like with my thumbs.

I want to run my hands down your back to finally, finally touch those hips, that ass. Gods. I could die a happy man, just after that.

I want to hear you say my name.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I want to tell you that I love you.

And for you to tell me that you know.

I want to know what it feels like to hold you, just hold you in my arms.

I want to make love to you with the lights on.

I want to see your body convulse with pleasure, see the look on your face, the look in your eyes just as you lose control.

I want to feel your breath in my ear as you give me a nibble and whisper that you love me.

I want to know how your day went. How things are going at work.

I want to make your coffee in the morning, just how you like it.

I want to know what you taste like. What all of you tastes like.

I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

All of you. Every you. Any you.

Just. You.

I just want… you.