I dreamt of your stormy grey eyes, tired but twinkly,
wondered if I’d get to laugh with you and watch the crinkles in the corners deepen
or lean my head gently on your chest while
you hug me from behind,
strong presence at my back and arms wrapped loosely around my waist as we
watch the late afternoon summer rain.
I want to look up at you, reach up to trace your jawline with the tips of my nails,
and watch your eyelids close with your sigh.
One day I’ll pick up a pen
and I’ll write a story across your skin, head to toe, about what you mean to me.