I want...

I want to tell you what I'm reading so you can tell me what you think about it.

I want to ask how you can be Italian and tell me you have faith in the working class of America while me a product of the working class of America doesn't have faith. I lost mine; give me some of yours.

I want to know if there is poetry in your soul. Are you all business or is there softness in all your stern-facedness?

I want to know what your Mother is ill with.

I want to know how your marriage ended. Did she want it or did you? Did it die slowly or in flames? Do you still hurt about it?

I want to know about your first marriage.

I want to take a bath in a large mosaic bathtub with you. I want you to sit at one end and me the other.   I want to see you see me covered in water and bubbles while our bodies brush against each other and the smooth soap makes our skin slip when we rub together. I want to rub against you.

I want to have dinner with you while we sit on the same side of the table and I watch your mouth form words that interest me. I want to have to make the decision: would I rather hear you talk or rather feel you kiss me?

I want to hold your hand.

I want to know what you look like in the sunshine and the dark and how your skin tastes when you've been sweating.

I want to lay in bed with you and talk the way we do. Talking to you is better than most of the sex I've had with other men.

I want to know if you fuck slow or fast.

I want to know how you like it.

I want to know you.