The sight of your keys on the counter makes me plan tonight.

I keep thinking about your whisper and how it makes me rearrange my day.

I'm waiting for the brush of your shoulder against mine on the bus home.

I want the quiet of your hand finding mine under the table tonight.

If you slide into bed holding that book, I'll climb in without apology.

I keep imagining your callused fingers smoothing my hair and it ruins meetings.

Tell me which shirt you're wearing and I'll choose mine to meet you.

Remember the backseat on our last drive? I haven't stopped smiling at it.

I want to be the reason you text 'here' and mean come get me.

I keep replaying your jacket sleeve brushing my wrist and it's not fair.

Your footsteps coming up the stairs make my day dangerous in the best way.

I want to steal the spoon you're using and taste whatever you're tasting.

Send me a photo of your collar and I'll be counting minutes.

I keep imagining your lips near my ear while we wait for the elevator.

Promise me a quick hello squeeze at the door and I'll be honest later.

I want your voice low and close while I'm doing the dishes.

Your hoodie on the floor is doing dangerous things to my plans tonight.

I'm craving the small warmth where your hand rested on my knee.

If you text that you're five minutes away I will drop everything and run.

Saw your coffee cup in the sink and suddenly had to sit down.

I can't stop thinking about your thumb tracing the seam of my jeans.

Your scent on the hoodie in my chair is distracting me all afternoon.

Texting to say I want to press my forehead to yours at dinner tonight.

I keep picturing your scarf tangled in my fingers on the subway.

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

Your laugh stuck in my ear is a slow burn I can't shake off.

I want the low, deliberate way you say my nickname when no one's near.

Your scent on the pillow is a low, persistent wanting I didn't invite.

My day narrows down to the moment I can lean into you again.

The memory of your scarf left on my chair has become my current obsession.

I keep imagining your laugh right behind me and it tightens everything.

My mind keeps going back to the scratch on your knuckle from last week.

That chipped mug you use is the image I scroll to between meetings.

If you steal the last biscuit I will exact a very specific, charming revenge.

Don’t answer texts after 8, I'm reserving you for very minor crimes.

Your message at noon made my skin remember places only you know.

Your scent on the coat I borrowed has been tormenting me between calls.

I want to trace the line where your shirt ends and your skin begins.

Your shoelace coming undone this morning is the thing I can’t stop picturing.

I want the quiet of you undressing a problem from me with a look.