Valentine's Day I

When it's a Northern wind I breathe a little deeper, looking for your exhalations and feeling them in my lungs.  I wish I could tell you about how my nerves crawl toward you when I feel you in my mind, about the delicate desperation that stretches over my bones and begs and aches and wants.  I wish I could tell you, with words that have feeling, meaning, that there's a heart beneath these planked ribs that doesn't like being caged any more.  That it beats harder and bigger each day, and that this bone structure doesn't stand a chance against the muscle you've invoked.  When it's a Northern wind I want it to blow harder, like hands through my hair, or hushed sentences through the tree branches of words I'll one day recognize. 

 

But I want to know now what words are on your rushing blood cells and what they're whispering to your heart about me.  If I could read your skin with my fingertips, if I could feel the masterpiece of your mind in the palms of my hands, I'd know how to say those words even better.  Give me eyes to look into and you will know what I'm feeling.