Look into my eyes. Brush the hair back from my face. Kiss me. Kiss my lips. Again. Tell me not that you love me, but how the summer breeze blows through those white blinds. Tell me of the sausage and onion pizza you ate for dinner last night, the stupid joke your boss told during break, your impossible fear of spiders. I don’t know, exactly, what it is I want to hear. But I know I like the sound of your voice, the way you grab my chin, and pull my face to yours, stare into my eyes.