I want you
whether it'd be in my dreams,
in the music I listen to;
I want the sound of your blood
to be my favorite song.
I want you to be the slight chill
when it rains and the steam
from my sweet, yet bitter tea.

I want you
to want me too.
I want to be the static in your TV,
the lustful glare in your eyes,
the lucid to your dreams.
I want to be the humid in your summer air,
the one that always messed with your hair.
You hated the summer because of it
and I loved your little complaints about it.
You preferred the winter's cold, Coldplay,
and the bitter frostbite that came with it too.

So want  me,
like I want you.