I want you.
I don't know who you are.
I don't where you are or when I'll find you.
All I know is that I want you.

I want to hold your hand,
lance my fingers between yours.
Your hands are strong, bigger than mine.
I know you have much better grip,
you could probably throw a better punch too.
Tanned and calloused fingers
contrasting soft warm palms.
The fingers that jab my sides playfully,
run slowly through my hair,
scratch my back and rub my shoulders.
The hands that hold mine.
Your hands.

I want to hear your voice,
speaking all the words of your hidden mind.
Your want's, your needs,
your hopes and your dreams.
The trill of your laugh, high like a birds tune.
The low rumble of your morning voice,
Warm and crackling like a campfire.
Your voice that reads me poetry beneath the stars,
Tells me jokes just to see my smile,
Whispers secrets, moments just for us,
A voice that speaks just for me.
Your voice.

I want to see your face.
Golden eyes above soft lips,
Pale skin stretched over a canvas of strong features.
Freckles like constellations litter your nose,
Where pink tint spreads when you blush.
Your pouting face, begging for my touch,
Your blissful smile, brows raised, grin wide,
The last face I see each night,
and the first one I see each morning.
The face that as of today, I have never seen.
Your face.

I could list all of your features.
Your hands, your voice, your face,
your lips, your arms, your chest.
But the reality is, only God knows how my perception may compare,
Only God knows you like I wish to.
Only God has seen your face.
The last face I see each night,
and the first one I see each morning.
To me, that isn't but a gap.
For in between those times I see your face in my dreams.
The only issue then you see is,
How do I know 'tis your face?