Block After Block

I want intelligent conversation with you again,

I miss that, darling.

I want paint swatches and laughing with you,

and those really great glances

we can sometimes get,

though, of course, they aren't the right kind.

I want your calloused hands and dorky grin.

I want to be silly and serious and to call you

at three in the morning.

I want you to pick up your phone and

answer (I know you'd push 'ignore')

and say nothing and to let the

great pause fill the space between us.

I want to look at art on museum walls with you.

I want to make you coffee that's perfect.

But I can't really make good coffee,

it's always too strong.

This longing fills me with

daydreaming tendencies and I

cannot help but imagine these things,

so sweetly wrapped up in polaroidesque images.

I am a feeble dreamer,

but you, my dear, are the anchor to my

hazy dreams. Your face is always clear

and grinning.

Someday I want just one,

one tiny little daydream.

One moment, or even just a glance

to be as I long for.

Someday, it can be near or far,

or whenever.

I want to drive you somewhere,

anywhere. So that we may do whatever

we would be inclined to do.

I want too much,

it is not a healthy thing.

But enough, enough about what I want.

Tell me what you want.

Tell me about anything.