I want you to call me with that tired voice you get at two a.m. and tell me something I’ll smile about tomorrow.

The memory of your palm on my waist under the streetlight keeps turning my commute into daydreams.

I want the slow, deliberate way you take off your gloves; do that with my patience and I’ll collapse.

Put on the song you danced to at that wedding and come over; I have a new reason for us to dance.

I’m craving the way you concentrate on puzzles; I want that attention on unraveling my stubborn plans.

I want to steal your last sip of wine and the look you give me when I do it — greedy and delighted.

Tell me a secret desire in three words and I’ll translate them into a full evening’s itinerary.

I keep thinking about the warmth of your shoulder when you lean against me; I want that exact warmth tonight.

I want your hands on the grocery list, crossing things out and drawing new ones that end at my apartment.

Send me one photo of your shoes by my door and I’ll invent reasons to open it that night.

I replay the night you tucked your hair behind your ear; I want you to do it slower, watching me watch you.

I want the simple cruelty of you saying 'later' and watching me count every minute you delay me.

If you show up with that sleepy, stubborn smile, I will test how long you can resist being kissed.

The way you bite the inside of your cheek before agreeing makes me want to press mine to yours until you stop.

Leave your keys on my table and see how long I take before asking for an explanation — and a favor.

I keep dreaming of your hand finding the small of my back and leading me away from everyone else.

I want you to corner me in the pantry and whisper the kind of plan that makes me drop the shopping list.

Your perfume on the elevator button last week has been haunting me; come leave it on my doorframe.

I want the stubborn focus you get when fixing a lamp focused on finding reasons to kiss you.

You hum a song when nervous — I want that song and the reason for it pressed into my shoulder.

I keep imagining your hand on my back guiding me through a crowded room straight into you.

I want the small mercy of you stealing my phone to pull me into the bedroom for five minutes.

Bring those worn jeans tonight; I have plans for them and none of them involve you staying fully dressed.

I’m hungry for the slow way you say my name in the dark; say it again, softer this time.

Remember the scratch on your wrist from the fence last summer? I want to kiss every honest mark.

The idea of you humming while you make tea makes my day bend toward wanting you harder.

Your hair on my pillow is unfair and I keep arranging it with my fingertips just to feel close.

I want you to stop me mid-sentence and kiss me until I have to start over with something better.

Tell me one small thing you want tonight and I’ll rearrange my plans around making it happen.

I’m thinking about how you chew your lower lip before replying and how I could make you forget the question.

Tonight bring that red scarf you never wear out and let me find reasons to tug it off.

I want the kind of single look you gave me in the elevator yesterday; it ruined my afternoon in the best way.

I keep picturing your fingers tracing the seam of my jacket and how loudly my balance tips toward you.

When I pass that blue bench we sat on I get that itch to pull you down beside me and not let you up.

I want the slow patience you use when buttoning your shirt, but directed at every minute with me.

Your text from lunch — three words — and I’ve been imagining your mouth on my neck ever since.

The memory of your laugh over coffee has me thinking about whispering in your ear until you stop laughing.

You in my kitchen at midnight, barefoot, whispering that I should come closer; I'm already halfway there.

I keep replaying how your jacket smells on my chair and it makes me want to steal it — and you — tonight.

I felt glad today remembering the way you corrected my pronunciation and laughed.