If I was a man(read the previous post for context)

I want you to fall asleep with your head on my chest,your thigh draped over my groin like you were made to fit me.I want to listen to the rhythm of your breath as the world goes quiet,and know, in that stillness, that peace can be a person. I want to wake at 3am just to light a scented candle for yousomething soft, like sandalwood and vanilla...then wake you gently, whispering scripture in your ear,our fingers laced as we read the Word like a love letter written for us. I want to catch you sleeping in golden morning light at 5am,snap photos of your bare face and messy hair like it’s sacred—then pull you close and wake you with mad headbecause your pleasure is my devotion too. I want to sit behind you while you take your braids down,undo each conrow like I’m learning the map of your mind,my hands careful, reverentlike they’ve finally found their purpose. I want to help you dress.Strap your bra. Zip up your dress.Kneel to help you with your heelsnot because you need me to,but because I love the ritual of loving you. I want to buy you dresses that make the world stop,take you out every weekend,just so I can watch your smile under candlelightand glare at the fool who dares wink at youthen kiss your forehead slow and proud,marking you with something louder than words. I want to do pushups with you beneath me,so every descent ends in a kissbecause fitness can be foreplay too. I want your scent on my clothes, on my pillow,lingering on my neck, my fingers,as proof you were here,and that your presence doesn’t fade when you leave the room. I want to hear every poem, every musing,every note your soul pens in silence,and I’ll reply with verses of my ownuntil your heart feels answered. I want to take pictures and videos of younot for show,but because miracles deserve to be documented.You, in motion, in stillness, in laughter, in tears.You are all of it. I want to customize jumpers with our faces on them,not just because it’s cutebut because I want the world to know:you’re mine, and I’m yours. I want to kiss behind your ear,your neck,leave trails of hickies where only you and I know to look.I want to sign my initials on your skinunder your breast, along your thighlike a living signature of love. I want to learn how to tame your hair,how to oil your scalp,what creams you use at nightso when your hands are tired,mine already know the routine. I want to sit beside you at the vanity,watch how you do your makeup,learn the brushes, the motions,until one day I can help you get readyand you trust me with your face. I want to fill a whole wall with pictures of yousmiling, frowning, dreaming, dancingbecause I believe beauty is constant when you’re the subject. I want to cook for you,watch how you season things with intention,learn your cravings, your comfort mealsbecause love is in the details,and I want to taste it with you. I want to give you massages wherever it aches,thumbs pressing, lips followingevery pain you carry deserves to be tended towith touch, with care, with love. I want to lie with you on the same sofa,no talking—just my fingers in your hair,our legs tangled,the world outside irrelevant. And even then,even with all this,I’ll still want more.More of you, more days like this,more chances to love you in ways you’ve never been loved before.

Other insights from Grace Kiconco