I want to love you, my darling.

You, in all your dauntless independence,

your infinite intelligence,

your beauty beyond compare.

I want to climb into your brilliant mind

and live in the nooks of your imagination.

To see each childhood memory hanging on the walls;

that I might relive them and glean a greater understanding

as to what world cultivated such a wondrous and gorgeous soul.

I want to traverse your dreams and resist your fears,

to fall with your tears and rise with the sun

that graces your bed wrecked and beautiful hair.

I want to take your sins and traumas, hold them up to the light

and, unflinching, declare "These are now mine. I am one with them,

and they do not frighten me any more than they should you."

I want you to be mine, only sometimes,

because I can't have you all the time.

For you are perfection, if such an abstraction exists.

You are a goddess if I am your only believer.

You are the essence of my poetry and the eye of my prose:

the dainty hand that guides my verse

and gives life to each my turn of phrase.

I want you so wholly, fully, and truly,

it makes me wonder if I've ever wanted anyone else before this-

if I've ever needed anything as much as I need you.

And I know you did not ask to be loved by me;

nor did you ask for such an enchanting voice,

such a gorgeous smile, such precious hazel eyes,

and yet you've all these things and more.

You did not ask for this madness

few words could explain or justify.

And for that I apologize.

But I hope you'll forgive me, regardless.

For loving is all that I am

and my darling, you make me want to be.