If we’re being honest

I want you
I want you in every way a man can have a woman
I want to dissipate your voiceless insecurities by listening
I want to contain your chaos and translate your thoughts into something you can understand
I want our symbiotic cycles synchronised, where I argue your cynicism into childlike idealism and you matter-of-fact my hopelessness into a tongue-in-cheek shrug, and I sillify your depression to forgetable metaphors and you remind me imagination isn’t insanity and we shift to support one another in a perpetual cycle that absurdifies the idea of boredom
I want to fuck you until you are stupid with orgasm and garbled words half laugh from you into your tumbled hair
I want you as that existential aftertaste that flavours every thought I have
In the surreptitious seconds before dawn
In some forgotten boxed night hour between waking and sleeping and everything between.
I want a piece of you, mixed with a piece of me – a unique connection before we do and become the same for others.


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