nine

i want us to fight over the space on the bed, possession of the remote control and dinner destination decisions. i want to have long, going-off-tangent conversations on unrelated topics that begin with the uselessness of the appendix (other than to have appendicitis) and end with the binary form of words. i want to feel the relief of stretching strained muscles caused by complete absence of motion in an uncomfortable position because you have fallen asleep on my chest and your spit has caked on my nipple. i want to be smothered with unending sweet kisses and overly tight embraces. i want to choke laughing at the sound and smell of your fart. i want to make love to you, watching the beautiful contortions of your face and then you'd look at me and ask: "what's wrong?" and i'd say: "absolutely nothing." followed by your celestial moans all the way to supernova.

in other words,

i want to be with you.

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