What is this you’re doing to me?
What is it about you that causes this realist to have her head in the clouds? Usually such a cynic, you leave me able to do nothing but quote prose and love sonnets. Not many people put me in such a state…
”I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.”
I fear I won’t keep you wanting me as I want you. And oh, do I want you. You know this. How often our conversations go late into the night, regretting that we are unable to see each other as often as our starving hearts desire.
"I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.”
I know how tempting it is to satisfy this hunger elsewhere. Satiation, relief, is but a mere phone call away for me, as I am sure it is for you. Though I may feel content, it could never compare to the fullness that which even just your presence gives me.
My brain is saturated with you. I cannot even perceive an eloquent way to end this letter…