Here’s a list of all the things I crave:
your hair, your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your voice,
your legs when you’ve remembered, love, to shave,
and that dark bush inside which we rejoice.
I hunger for your smile that’s indiscreet,
and for your hands that lovingly explore
my body when we daringly compete
in games that always end without a score.
I hunt for you in daylight, but the dark
is more auspicious for my quest, for you
cannot avoid me when you cannot see
the moves I make, and may not care to flee,
because you know the things I wish to do
again will be spontaneous as a spark.
Inspired by Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XI.