I want to love. But who doesn't? I want the specialty, the confidential of love. I want to be with you at 4:30 pm on a Thursday, staring at your ceiling listening to the heater. I want to be unexcited, because I think love can sometimes be that challenging. I want to stare into your soul again, as I have many times before. And you utter my name softly, then drift into sleep with that satisfaction.
I want unsullied thoughts. While no, not a clean slate, but purity.
Snow.
A hug to radiate shivers down my spine and force cheeks to blush and teeth to flutter.
Mislead to Antarctica by our clutter.
I want your sanctuary, the cove of your heart, tie a tent, and weave our decisions into hammocks which cradle  promise and hope.
And I have sipped, in consistency, to discover you exist at the bottom of bottles. And you have tarnished the coffee table.
I want long drives on Sunday. To escape the complexities which plow our emotions. I want to drag you to the mall, and you roll your eyes and check the time on your cellphone every seven minutes. I want to crawl into bed at two in the morning when I get home from work, to hear your snores and fit into the mold that your body made so innate. I want *** in an alleyway with you because the mattress is worn and wine is the taste of passion. More so with you, because I cannot imagine anyone else. I want to listen to music while in love again, because it sounds completely different. I want that booming laughter back which trails you are an idiot. But so am I. I want you back because I am an idiot. I am too human.
Once wrapped in arms, now tangled in this heart.