Your eyes, and you are so unsure. You, singular.
I’m uncertain of any given moment, any given time, any given motive or meaning. But I hope this helps.
When I fly, and the drink cart comes around, I don’t ask for water, or carbonated beverages. I always ask for tomato juice. The reason is that when you ask for a carbonated beverage or water, they pour you half a can over ice, and save the rest for the next person. But people rarely order tomato juice. When I order that, they always give me the whole can. It could spoil if they risk keeping it, and no one orders it. I get it all to myself.
You are that. You, mysterious person singular. Maybe no one else wants you, or asks about you. But I do. I want all of you. I want to experience every bit of you, all I can, before you disappear, and you will. Before someone or something takes you away, and they will. I want to be up in the clouds, enjoying you, knowing you, knowing that you’re all mine for that given moment, that given time, no motive, perhaps no meaning other than mutual enjoyment.
I want to be the only one who holds you.