I still long for a lot of things from you.
Like the smell of your room when you're peacefully dreaming.
Like the heavy beats in my chest when I'm about to kiss your neck while I'm spooning you.
Like the debate in my mind whether you'd like it or you'll like it a lot.

Oh pray that the summer could be more forgiving.
So we could run up to the hills
Lie under trees, tired from carving our names on their helpless barks
Watch the gaps between leaves and the sunlight piercing through
Draw scriptures on your skin.
Your blank page of a skin.
Always ready for a masterpiece.
Already, in itself, (if I may correct myself) a masterpiece.

I still long for the moment
After your sweating forehead gives way to your radiance.
After your legs stop working from hiking grounds of brown and green.
Icky damp, cracking dry.

I still long to see you
Playing on the river
Skipping stones
Soaking your heels.

Shaking off sand
Stuck in your Birkenstock.
Collecting stones you find fancy.
Writing our names on the sand.

Lean your head against my shoulder
Tired from all your adventure
Selfishly keeping each monumental seconds
Safely in our private album.

I still long to long for you.
Through summers,
Through seasons.