That smudge of sauce on your lip perking you up in the mirror stayed with me; I want to clean it off slowly.

I keep replaying your 'see you' at the curb and wanting to stay until it's 'stay with me'.

I can't get over the little freckle near your collarbone — will you let me count them?

The warmth of your jacket on my arm is a problem; I plan to make it my excuse to stay.

I want to know how you breathe when you're pretending to be composed, starting tonight.

You tucked your chin when you listened; I want to make you do that again and then kiss it.

I want to steal a kiss in the doorway the way we almost did and not stop at almost.

I keep thinking of your shoulder dipped when you leaned in — want to lean in properly next time.

That small scar on your knuckle made me curious; I'm still curious in a more general way.

I want to make you laugh that wrong laugh from tonight and then watch you try not to.

I woke wanting the taste of the cocktail you had and the rest of you besides.

Remember the scratch on your phone case you showed me? I want to trace it and then trace you.

I can't stop wanting the quiet you and I made by the coat rack to turn into something louder.

Your hand holding the menu like it belonged there — I want to hold you with that same certainty.

I want to press my forehead to yours the way you did for a second and see how long we can hold it.

I keep replaying you sliding into that booth and imagining you sliding closer.

Thinking of the heat between us on that bench — want to see if it grows when we stand.

I want the excuse of your sweater falling off one shoulder so I can say I noticed.

I'm still thinking about your voice cracking at that joke; it made me want to ruin your composure again.

I want to know what you whisper when no one is listening, starting tonight.

I keep thinking about your thumb tracing the stem of your glass; I want to replace the glass with my hand.

Please tell me you'll wear the jacket you had on tonight so I can steal it and you later.

I'm still warm from your shoulder against mine; want to see how much closer we can get.

That little pause you took before you laughed — I want more of those pauses with you.

Your cologne on the chair is unfair; I want to be the thing it remembers.

I keep thinking about your hand reaching for the door; I want it to reach for me next.

I want to taste the lipstick you left on the napkin and then on you.

Can we skip dessert and go straight to whatever comes after pretending to look at the skyline?

I'll admit it: I keep remembering your knee bumping mine and plotting an intentional one next time.

That crooked grin you used while reading the wine list — I want to see it again, without the menu between us.

Your voice saying my name over the hum of the restaurant is stuck in my head and it makes me impatient.

I want to trade whispers with you in the back of a taxi the way we did by the door.

I keep imagining pressing my palm to your back where your shirt rode up; can we try that?

Thinking about the way you smirked when you ordered — makes me want to test that smirk on purpose.

I can't stop picturing your fingers brushing the menu; I want them on my arm next.

That spot on your jacket where you smelled like coffee — I want to breathe it in properly.

Your laugh under that streetlight is still in my head and I want to see it again, closer.

I keep replaying you tucking your hair behind your ear at the bar — want to do that and more tonight.

I promise simply this: tonight mattered to me, and I want more of you.

I pledge to say I’m nervous and ask for a squeeze of your hand.