When it’s them,
everything sharpens.

The air feels different
just because they’re in it.
Like your body
knows before you do.

You watch their hands
when they’re not touching you,
and still
you feel it.

It’s not just sex,
but it’s not not that.
It’s the heat behind your ribs
when they laugh,
the way your mouth moves
toward theirs without thinking.

You memorize their smell
without meaning to.
You find yourself
reading into the way they breathe.

Closeness
becomes a problem—
because you’re already pressed against them
and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

You want skin,
yes—
but also their voice in the dark,
their breath on your neck
when nothing’s happening,
the weight of their body
just being near.

It’s hunger,
but deeper.
Like your whole nervous system
is tuned to them now,
and everything else
feels a little too quiet.

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