i want you to beg for my kisses,
to long for my lips
even after i sip
the last few drops
of a burnt cup of coffee;
even after i wake up
on a lazy sunday morning
without having brushed my teeth
the night before;
even after i slurp a hot bowl
of soupe al'oignon gratinee;
even after garlic.
i want to keep you up at night
because you wish you could call me
to discuss that new book you read
that new photograph you took
that new restaurant you found
around the corner from your apartment.
i want to floor you,
knock you down,
with my thoughts on jung
and my citations of eliot,
with my smile;
a smile that draws you in
delights you
disarms you.
i want you to know,
by the look on my face,
by the furrows in my brow,
and the reflection in my eyes,
what i think
and feel,
what i need.
and i want you to give it to me.
but what i want,
more than anything,
is for you to exist;
not as a fanciful memory
or faraway stranger yet unfound,
but here
and now
with me.
is that so much to ask?
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