I’m sorry, but I can’t go another day without telling you how much I want to feel your face beneath my fingers, how much I want to drag their trembling tips across your gentle skin. My mind swells with almost inclement desire, that I may consume your body or breathe in your being with every sigh you let out.

I want to run my fingers across the playful curve of your brow, the arching base of your nose, the edges of your supple lips. I want to feel your skin give beneath mine as it resists from the sultriness of your complexion. I want to explore every diminutive line in your face and examine every feature of your countenance. I want to graze the flourish of your lashes and kiss the corners of your exquisite, pointed mouth.

Even now my mind struggles with the words, the ineffable nature of my overwhelming appetite.

That you may be mine.

And no one else’s.