The Curse of Curves

So this is what I'm thinking while at work, while reading scripts, sometimes out of nowhere at all and not all the time but far too often:

The sun comes up. I think about you.

I think about your fingers running through my hair. Mine through yours. About simply sitting next to each other or curled up into each other. I think about how gentle it feels and how safe and secure. How empowering and peaceful it is. I think about putting my lips to yours. Your lips on my neck. Tongues touching, embracing each other. I can close my eyes and lose myself in it even as I type this.
I imagine falling. Falling back, still connected, and lying beneath you, or rolling you over so I can reach down to you. Even if my hair gets in the way, you brush it back. There is a wild ferocity to it, but an extreme tenderness as well.
I lose myself in this imagining. Its become a distraction I don't think I can control. It comes at the most inopportune times.
And all I do is dream about the closeness of you.

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
And waiting for you is what hurts the most but makes it the thing I would most fight for.