You

You, your hair is wintry pine, bark soft from melted ice. Your skin is velvet, supple well-treated leather, warm like a freshly burnt hearth, surrounded by thick brick and gorgeous ivory marble. Your smile is a playful breeze and your heart is an ornate teacup locked alone in a stone cupboard, not a scratch laid upon its china surface. Your eyes, bright as the sun and as deep as the ocean, a vast expanse of green. I love you. I loathe you. You can protect yourself with your stone and brick, your trust is important, it is what you hold dear, safer than your heart. My heart, my teacup, is this poor pile of shards, design long gone, and yet there are no stones, no protection, open to be stepped on by the cheaters and liars I am attracted to. I love you, and yet I loathe you. You can keep friends and I can make enemies. I see a mind filled with normalcy, a calm sea, I am tumultuous waves with thunder and rain. I can imagine you. I can imagine you in my arms, warm hearth and leather, pine and the vastness of your eyes. I can imagine your lips on mine, soft like suede and dewy from your tongue. I can imagine the feel of it, kindling a flame in the cold pit of my belly, slow and sensuous, a freshly lit hearth. I desire you, I desire for the walls around you to crumble, one by one. Brick and stone, marble and chained cupboard. I desire for your heart, fragile in my hands. I want us to share a cupboard, for us to feel safe and ok in each other's arms. I'm desperate for you. But, I will wait for you, wait for your heart to show, wait for your trust. I will wait, because I care for you so deeply. I just hope that one day, I can trust you to do the same. I love you, but I won't loathe you.