You do not know me.
And I know nothing of you.
But we have met before.
A hundred thousand times.
And you are mine.
Mine in the way I hold you in my thoughts.
Mine in how I want to see you again.
Mine in the way my thoughts wander to yours, and
when I speak, you listen.
I am yours,
I hope.
Come find me in the bushes where I lay in the open sun,
the dirt feels wet and cozy, and
the leaves in my hair remind me of your fingers.
I've had your nearly love for weeks
too long,
and my skin is growing tight.