Will you?

I wrote to you a long time ago. A matter of chance. Gamble. Luck. To this day I still call it:
A shot in the dark.
Blind, unseen, unknowing. Why, what, who? Memories lie and fade away. No doubt the same would happen to us. A summer fever can only last so long. Some take weeks, months, even years. Ours is fifteen. A fire that won't burn out. Bursting through the darkest of nights.

I see it in your eyes. Other men would call it anything, everything. To get you. You. Your attention, your details, your memories, your time, your love, lust, and desire. Others have. Others will.
I see it. I think I can. I can almost reach it.

Would you let me?
Will you?

Love me, that is.
I mean
Love you.
Will you?
Keep the fever going.

As I weep and write and despair.
Will you
Love me.
Let me
Love you.

As I laugh and smile and bathe in the joy
Will you
Love me.
Let me
Love you.

I'd like that.