Senses

I want to write poems
on your skin
with my lips

I want the smell
of your hair to hit
like the strength of a punch to the gut

I want to see
your eyes as they are
as they've always been
which is as if looking
at a galaxy through a telescope
and not being able to look away

I want to hear
the symphony of your voice
like it's the loudest
I said LOUDEST
orchestra I've ever had the pleasure of hearing

I want to feel
the tingling sensation I get every time
your hand brushes mine
or you pick up your pen to write

I want to taste
the bitterness of you
when your sour from the stresses of society;
and the lemon you sucked as a priority
after your fourth shot of tequila

My senses
They're unstable
around you