My mind and body hunger for you. For the imagined feel and taste of you. For the assumed smell and touch of you. For you.
I want to look into you dark brown eyes and kiss your warm eyelids, my lips brushing your gently sloped eyebrows. I want to taste the curves of your smile and feel your lips mold against mine as you laugh at something I have shared.
I want to cup your round face in my strong hands, stroke your cheeks with my fingers, and press my forehead against yours, with your short black hair soft against my skin.
I want to push my face against your neck, smelling your scent, touched by sunlight, infused with rainfall, pure and natural. My lips want to find your warm skin, following the curve of your neck to where your white shirt accentuates the golden brown of your smooth skin and your full breasts.
I want to gently unbutton your shirt and lay bare those breasts, gathering them in my hands, kissing their softness, losing myself in their perfection.
I want to caress your stomach, taut but soft, and pull your hips against my body. I imagine I lay you on the bed and stretch beside you, slipping you free of your jeans and your boots.
I imagine you see me as handsome and virile. Strong and in control. You want my lips on your body as much as I want them there. And when I cover you and move inside of you, your hands stroke me and our bodies and passions meld.
And when it’s over, and I press you to my chest, when we lay murmuring of simple things, I feel completed by your trust, your passion, and your acceptance of me.
I want to lay with you like a man, possess you like a man, fulfil your desires like a man.
The body I possess is not the body that I see in my dreams with you. The body I possess cannot enter you, or fulfill you.
Because a woman possesses my body, but a man, my mind. And you cannot make love to my mind.