Consumed

I know we’ve known each other for a while, as friends,
but there is something you must know.
I see the way you read and the way you play the piano and
the way you quote Shakespeare, and there is an aching in my
bones to be the thing that steals your time and focus the way
the simplest of hobbies do.
I want you to read me the way you hungrily read books
cover to cover, scanning every word of the story, knowing it in and out,
the way one only could through careful scrutiny.
I want you to touch me the way you play the piano, striking
the keys with such emotion at times and hardly grazing them at others.
I want you to make me sing the way you make the piano sing for you, love,
songs that no one else knows the words to.
I want you to speak to me in such a way that my heart melts
between your words, sentences so eloquent and intimate,
made only for my ears, sentences so carefully wrought and woven,
sentences so softly strung together that the slightest breath might blow them away,
sentences that Shakespearean sonnets couldn’t dare hold a candle to.
I want to be the one not only who takes your time, but also the one who
consumes you completely,
just as you’ve consumed me.