I want to taste your skin on a Friday night anywhere—
somewhere under the stars and the moon and the sky.
I want you, I want to feel your touch on a couch in a basement—
with the lights off and a bad romance film acting as background noise to the sound of our heartbeats.
I want you. Constantly and consistently,
I want your fingers interlaced with mine, when walking anywhere—
somewhere in public where you proudly know people will be sure to see.
I want you, I want you, I want you.
Do you want me?