I long to spend lazy hours with you.
Hours upon hours upon endless moments upon sleepless nights and sleepy mornings.
I long to breathe under your fingertips and kiss your heavy eyes closed.
I long to listen to your unconscious movement and diagram your restlessness on the dark curtains that are my eyelids; curving, jumping lines that separate moments of cognitive terror.  
I long to feel your tensions release, clothed by comfort found beneath my skin.
The strain of unconscious thought, and the simple weakness of letting go; the innocence of your defenselessness in the night.
Childlike beauty in the slack muscles that envelope the soft bones of your face