4:06 A.M.

Like a melted puddle of cherry Popsicle on hot asphalt; I want to lick you up. The sweet parts of you, and the dirty parts too.

I want to feel the grittiness under my teeth.
Give me the raw parts of you. The stayed up past 3 am parts of you. The I haven’t combed my hair in days parts of you.

Like a breath of cold air in a Midwestern winter, let me breathe you in.
Let me absorb you like frozen snowflakes on my tongue.

Let me feel the warm parts of your heart, and the cold parts too.
I want to touch you, every inch of you.
Show me the scars, and the freckles on your skin.

Tell me the about the dark places of your head, and what keeps you up at night in bed.
I want your voice to fill my head, and to savor each word as it rolls off your sweet lips. A slight twang of an accent you don’t notice, and don’t know where you got it from.

But I do.
I notice. I notice every detail of your inches from head to toe. I notice your slight paranoia and the way you fix your hair.
I could observe you for an eternity and I wouldn’t get bored.

I want you to eat me up inside.
I want you to leave a trace in every corner of my room.
I want my sheets to smell like you.
I want you to get to me.
And I want you to read this
on those nights you can’t sleep.
I want it to get to you.

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