"some days"

you
are one lovely arrangement
of curves and lines,
of limbs and sighs,
a silk voice, luxurious,
bourbon-soaked with meaning,
with intent

all forces combined
into one sudden statement of -
"so
damn
fine,"
- and some days,
I wish you were mine.

Other days I'm just glad
I get to waste your
time.

But some days I wish
I could own you:
mine.

Mind, body and soul
and not control
one tick of your clock
or lick of your tongue
one click of your thought
process, gliding serenely along
to smack me backwards, where
and whenever one of us
is most
definitely
wrong. To get me
exactly
what
I could never have known I would have begged to know,
but cannot stop wanting again,
once shown.

For you:
to own
my attention
my affection
my devotion,
my loyalty
grown
unruly,
unmanageably
wild and
truly

strong,
and unstoppably
calm.

At rest in you; owning,
and owned.

Some days, I want just
to see you and all you
make and do, and say:

This.

You are mine. In every way

Those are just some days. Other days, it feels
as if
it would be somehow more true
to say, instead

"someday"