I want your big talk- when you're acting tough- and your small talk- the weather and the Yankees. I want last-thing-at-night talk and first-thing-in-the-morning talk. I want to know how you try to laugh when you're crying and how that differs from when you're crying from laughter. I want to know the taste of your laughs and smiles and hiccups and the color of your cheeks when I tell you that I love you. I want your stale breath kisses and your pre-shave stubble and your hands on my body, even if they're cold or damp or shaking. I want your heartbeat under my cheek and your fingers in my hair and your lips on me: on my lips and my knuckles and my forehead- my scrapes and cutes and bruises. I want to know every scar and mark and freckle on your skin and the way your body flushes when you're shy or embarassed or aroused. I want to push you and see what you'll do: I want to learn you and love you and split you open, take all the ideas and thoughts and desires you've never shown to anyone else. And I will know you. And I will learn you, and I will love you like I love the sunrise over the ocean. And every subsequent sunrise will be better because I am so enamoured of you that everything is more beautiful. I want you. I want you. Oh, God, I want you. I want everything you can give me, and I'll take whatever I can get.
3:46 am
