I want to press my palm to your chest and feel you pause.

That little smirk you get when you're plotting something has me planning the evening.

I want to taste the salt of your skin after you laugh at something stupid.

Your footprints by the bed make me want to follow them instantly.

I want you to brush the hair from my face and not ask permission.

I keep thinking about your fingers fiddling with your watch and wanting them elsewhere.

The weight of your head on my shoulder in traffic is a thought I can't drop.

I want to steal the blanket and have you steal the rest of me back.

Your sleepy goodnight this morning has been the most provocative thing all day.

I want your elbow on my ribs while we pretend to watch TV.

The faint taste of your kiss still on my cheek and now I want the rest.

I want to be the reason you forget what you were about to say.

I keep craving the way your thumb presses the back of my hand.

Your dusty work jacket hanging by the bed gets me thinking about endings of the day.

I want to burrow into your side on the couch and make you promise not to move.

You in my doorway, one hand on the frame—that image keeps looping.

I want you to whisper the single word you used this morning and nothing else.

That brief touch on the stairs is replaying and I want the rest of the staircase.

I want to warm my face in the crook of your neck and not explain anything.

I imagine your fingertips finding the nape of my neck and it ruins my focus.

I want you leaning over me with that concentrated look you get while reading.

Your cologne on the collar of my shirt has me counting the hours.

I keep wanting to sneak into bed and steal the space next to you.

The way you hum while you cook? I want to stop you and kiss you under the extractor fan.

I want to feel your hand at the small of my back when we walk into a room.

Your warm mug left on the table makes me imagine you handing it to me slowly.

I want to press my back to yours on the sofa and stay there until we both give in.

When I find your pen in my bag I get that quiet pull toward you.

The feel of your hoodie on my shoulders is the only thing that would fix tonight.

I want to trace the scar on your knuckle and not stop.

Texting you at my desk because the memory of your lips distracts me.

I keep replaying the way you tucked my hair behind my ear and wanting more.

I want you pressed against the kitchen counter while the kettle boils.

Your voice telling me to stay in bed makes me want to rearrange my whole day.

I keep picturing your sweatshirt on the chair and wanting to crawl into it with you.

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.