I keep replaying the way you pressed your hand to my back in the doorway; I want that pressure again.

Your sleepy texts are a dangerous weapon; they make me want you all afternoon.

That small scar on your knuckle — I traced it in my head today and wanted to kiss it.

I want to surprise you by showing up with your favorite takeout and then not leaving.

Your thumbprint on the wine glass from last night is an oddly perfect image I can't shake.

I want the soft way you say my name under your breath.

Remember your sloppy attempt at salsa last week? I keep craving a redo, with you.

I want to steal your hoodie and smell you close for a minute before handing it back.

That sleepy squint you have at dawn is the thought that ruins my focus in the best way.

I want the small domestic mess you make when you cook for us again.

When you send a photo of your hands I stare at them and wish they were on me.

I keep replaying your 'goodnight' text and smiling like an idiot at my desk.

The way you tighten your grip on the steering wheel when you're focused — I want to feel that grip on me.

I want to press my forehead to yours and apologize with my mouth instead of words.

Your perfume on the subway this morning followed me home in my head.

That note you left in my coat pocket is my favorite distraction today.

I want to stand behind you in the kitchen and feel that press at your waist.

Every time I pass the bakery I imagine you stealing a piece of pastry and pressing it on me.

The scuff on your phone case is now one of my favorite things because you touch it.

Your shirt still smells like you and it's torture in the sweetest way.

I keep wanting the heat from your neck against mine when you lean in.

I want the small reckless thing you do — tucking hair behind your ear when you lie.

I love the memory of your hand on my lower back at the concert; I want that again.

That chipped mug you use is somehow an excuse to see you tonight.

I keep remembering your voice saying my name and it makes my day worse — in a good way.

The way you smell of coffee and laundry is a detail I keep returning to.

Your laugh in the video call made me want to close the laptop and come over.

Seeing your shoes by the door makes me grin and want to pull you into the hallway.

I want to trace the freckle by your collarbone with my thumb.

That braid you wear when you cook is on my mind more than it should be.

Your text at noon made me stop what I was doing and imagine you next to me.

When you hummed in the kitchen I almost forgot to eat — I kept thinking about kissing you.

I keep replaying how you smelled this morning on your shirt; I want that again.

I want the neat, quiet way you undo buttons when you think no one's watching.

I keep replaying your whispered question from the sofa and it makes me restless.

The way your knee knocks mine under the table is the small electric I keep craving.

I want the impatient tug at my sleeve that means you're not waiting any longer.

I keep thinking about the slick of sweat at your hairline after we danced last time.

I want the hush in your voice when it's only us in the kitchen at midnight.

I keep imagining the look you give me when you catch me staring—it's dangerous.