spectrums

I want to understand you like I’m fluent, but be understood like I’m your native language.

I want to be interested in you like TED Talk attendees, but be infatuated with like the girls swooning over Indiana Jones in his classroom.

I want to hear you like listening to The Secret Life of Plants, but heard like a dog hearing canned whipped cream being sprayed.

I want to be touched like straphangers grasping stanchions on busy subway cars that jerk suddenly, but felt like a cool breeze gliding over skin on August afternoons.

I want to taste you like nostalgic childhood comfort food, but savored like a once-in-a-lifetime meal at SubliMotion.

I want to be loved like Ralph Fiennes loves Rachel Weisz in The Constant Gardener, but fucked like Viggo Mortenson fucks Maria Bello in A History of Violence.

I want to see you before my eyes get old, opaque with cataracts, and my world’s vignette increases into total darkness. I want you, simply, to see me.