I want to touch you.

         F i r s t   w i t h   w o r d s,
                      t h e n   w i t h   s k i n.

                I want to run a finger
                across your lower lip;
                brush the back of my hand 
                along the side of your face;
                trace the shadow of a beard
                on your jawline, just shaved.

I want to know you.

         F i r s t   t h e   l i g h t,
                      t h e n   t h e   d a r k.

                I want to feel the rhythm
                from the inside of your heart;
                hold hands with your soul
                as we dance in your dreams;
                visit each of your nightmares
                and still choose what I’ve seen.

I reckon this one will become longer in future iterations.