I want to be with someone
who slow dances with me,
who calls me beautiful,
who gently touches my hair.
I want to be with someone
who sees my body as strong,
whose eyes linger longer
over my smile,
whose lips share compliments
and occasional constructive criticisms.
I want to switch-up my language,
twist my own words around
to tell a story with fewer clichés,
more showing, less telling.
So, I want to be with someone
publicly and privately,
in small, fevered dreams.
I want to make love,
fumbling awkwardly,
giggling through pushing
masses of hair away
from excited eyes,
wanting mouths.
I want to be held in a spell
like a long drag off a cigarette.
I want someone's hand
on the small of my back
as he [thinks he] allows me to lead,
and when I get lipstick
on his collar
I want him
to know
that he is mine.
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