I want to give you bruises that don’t fade for a week.
I want to think, “I hope the neighbors don’t call the cops.”
I want to rub my hand over your flesh that’s hot to the touch.
I want to be sore the next day from that much energy expended.
I want to be the answer to your needs.
I want this hypothetical you to exist, to find me, to say, “yes,” and “more,” and, “please.”
If I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for you, it’s because I have. Already I feel jaded.
Come into existence for me.