I want you to look at me from across the room with an eye of a hunter. Eagerly observing, slowing attacking. I want you to smoke of whispered secrets and sip cups of harsh truths. I want you to know how to play ‘the game’. I want you to sweep me off my feet not in words but with actions. I want you to speak of sonnets and symphonies. I want you to stop and smell the roses and remember the nights we’ve had together. I want you to send me handwritten letters in a form of a poem, a prose or anything you are comfortable with. I want you to paint me your dreams, with or without me in it. I want to laugh at your frustration when you don’t get my lips just right. I want you to string together little pieces of the little things that I wouldn’t remember. I want you to climb in and out of my window. I want your groggy face next to mine on a Sunday morning. I want your worries to leave and your scent to stay on my sheets. I want your mornings in my place and my evenings at yours. I want your hands to run slowly down the gaps of my spine or the hollows of my ribs. I want you to kiss me on the parts where I’m most insecure of – my thighs, my core, my collar bones. I want you in pieces, in halves, in a whole. Never mind that, I want you. I want all of you.