something i wrote, for someone some kind of wonderful.
a letter of intent
i know you, but i don’t.
the words we have written are hushed introductions, expositions revealing tid bits of our little lives. i want to know the other bits.
i wonder what you look like on a friday at twilight navigating home through humming yellow-colored cabs.
what do you feel like on a saturday? do you awake before the sun or have you not gone to bed yet? i can see your weary eyes open and close revealing two perfect dawns painted by New York which are really seen through the eyes of the girl across the hall.
i bet you taste like clementines and sunshine on a sunday morning. the fresh scent of bergamot on your fingertips. i’d follow your scent and find you far away from the city. in the woods, there you would be. with sticky sweet fingers, we’d peel away each others layers. finding the bits we have yet to discover.
