If we had more hours in the day

If we had more hours in the day,
I would still hurry home with eager lips.
I would not waste my time completing tasks with utmost attention to accuracy.
Instead I would draw your bath to the most delicate temperature, smiling at the thought of your skin, attended by goose bumps, as it exclaimed how warmth was every bit a lover as my hungry hands were.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd take my time guessing how long God devoted himself to the gaps between your fingers and the curl in your lips, before deciding that perfection was something he had saved until creating you.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd make sure to look you in the eyes with every word you shared with me; and search your eyes to guess the words your perfect tongue hadn't learned to roll yet.
I'd kiss your lips when words weren't necessary at all, maybe I'd kiss them just because I could.
Because kissing you deserved a day of its own.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd take an hour to thank the Sun for how it danced across your body, shedding light on all the new places my mouth was to explore.
I'd thank street lights for the eyelash shadows dripping down your cheeks,
reminding me that symmetry existed outside our bodies dancing together.

If we had more hours in the day,
I'd still spend most of it trying to find the courage to tell you all of this.
After all, I'm still only a fool hiding behind words.
But if the day were ever to arrive, I'd make sure to whisper it along your spine and over your shoulder.
They'd take their final resting place above your breast and wait there until the beating of your wanting heart slowly absorbed them...

And now I pray,
If only we had more hours in the day.