I'm less drunk now; so let me talk about biting your shoulder and kissing down your spine. Calling you baby is better than diving naked off the ******* into the crashing waves that summer at Navarre. The ends of my hair can perceive the sensation that fills my throat and shoots down to the tips of my toes. Finger tips tingling, inching up the empty space next to me as if continuing could make your body appear and I'd no longer have to close my eyes and wish your hands inside my palms and my eyelashes blinking your unruly curls. You live inside my mind and I live for the day that you're riding next to me in the car with one hand on my thigh and the other fighting for the controls of the radio; complaining that you'd die if I played another Tegan and Sara song from 1999. I swear all you have to do is breathe and I'd climb over the wall of china. Breathe out a word that even sounds like baby and I'm putty in your hands. Please mold me into something beautiful and strong; something I can look at in the mirror. I didn't mean to give you all this power, I never meant to do anything; but I don't think you meant to have me falling like this either. We all make mistakes baby. What I mean is, it's okay. Just kiss me baby.