The Morning Light

The morning light    
crawls across my face,  
caressing it like a gentle kiss.    
Thoughts of you overwhelm my mind    
leaving me in tangles.    
    
I find your message on my phone.    
A poem.  
As I read,  
I bask in the warmth    
of your prose,  
being bathed in its beauty.    
Though the words are not for me,    
the desire wells inside me    
to be the muse to your art,    
to shape your imagination    
in the form of my body.    
   
How I long to touch your face.    
For your fingers to softly graze    
my cheek as your gaze    
slowly suffocates me.    
To feel the pressure of your mouth    
against mine until  
my every thought    
is reduced to ash  
from the fire    
that consumes me.