Not for the fainthearted

I wish I could find the best words to depict your beauty,
Or form the sentences that would exactly translate
How I feel, when you are just in front of me.
The pleasure of watching your lips move as you talk
Imagining how they would taste, holding my breath...
Being then totally distracted by the veins,
Slightly visible beneath the smooth skin of your neck
Following them under your shirt, in my mind,
Along the most perfect collar bone
And down, on the roundness of your shoulders...
While my imaginary fingertips slowly discover
All the details of your skin, of your statuesque body,
My imaginary lips and tongue are busy
assigning the matching flavors, simultaneously.
Then you suddenly stop speaking and ask me
What I am thinking about, "am I boring you?"
you say, with some annoyance in your voice.
I could try to tell you the truth, probably.
I just don't think you would take it so well, after all...