I want to tell you a secret, or more. I want you to hold my hand and tell me, “I’m listening.” I want to look in your eyes and feel the warmth of a Carolina summer day even if there is a chill in the air. I want to trust you to drink in my emotions, all of them shaken or stirred. I want to confess my desires and see your acceptance rise in your pants. I want your fingers to trace my lips before you hungrily devour them. I want your head on my shoulder, letting me soothe your worries away. I want your honesty, no matter how dry and brittle. I want your guidance when I say I’m lost. And your hand in my hair when I go to my knees. I want acknowledgment of my strength and intellect, not dismissal of it because I sometimes feel like a slut. I want to forget heartache when I’m in your arms, even if I am the cause of it. I want to talk about the controversial and volatile. I want to share our sweetest memories, even the painful ones. I want to be possessed in a way that leaves no doubt, in my mind or yours. I want to tell you a secret … do you want more?