I like your green shirt.
You wear it out at your hips,
and undone at your throat
to the perfect balance between promise and secrecy.
I like your glasses.
Your dark hair sometimes rests on the place
where the bow meets the frame,
and curves around it in a way that just undoes me.
Though I love them on you,
how I long to remove your shirt,
with fingertips and long kisses.
Tonight my sleep will be slow in coming,
for thinking of you, your name, and these desires.
Then, in the silent hour, I will dream of pine forests
and streams that bend to reflect the stars.