One day, I want to kiss you and it taste like bitter chocolate.
I think I may put a piece on my tongue and smile while it melts,
smile at you, and you will kiss me and taste chocolate,
and then every time you taste chocolate you will taste me.
I want your face against my throat to breathe in flowers,
light and heady and real, jasmine and gardenia and orange-blossom.
I want to be a garden, to be a garden for you, and then every time you are in a garden
you will be with me.
I want soft skin like a queen of nations or an infant,
smooth, but warm and not cold like satin, which cannot feel your arms
or embrace you in return. I want a touch like a feather,
like down on your face, and then every time you see a bird you will feel me.
I want a voice that echoes gently like water lapping and breaking on a shore far away.
I want my words to have in them pale sand and water smoothly rolling,
and salt and gulls and a cool breeze and an indistinct horizon,
and when you sail away, you will be sailing over me.