Looking

Self-portrait late at night. I look at you softly. My yellow-ish eyes on fire, on you. I kiss your face just to find your smile. Gently -- give me your hands -- I want them to touch every single spot in my soul, take this fever away. Rescue me from the icy cold night. I need to see and feel you because if this is a dream, I want it to be real. I travel long distances and wait. Could this be really happening? I open a book to distract myself from you.

Reading you is a mystery. I don't ask questions because I don't want to be hurt again. My silence is a sign.
Your lips: some type of prayer I want to - more than say it - understand.

It took me only one second to look at you and now all I have is this image stuck in my head. I hear voices too. I see you singing and your entire body creates worlds of contentment.

You embrace me with your eyes, your left hand closely holding my right hand and taking it to your chest. Among other things, there's this crazy notion, I feel safe with you.

Be real, my sweetest dream. Be real. I want to keep looking at you with passionate eyes and an enamored soul.