My skin is screaming,
But not from pain.
It yearns for your hands,
Which have already left a stain.

It remembers your touch,
And cannot let it go.
It craves you yet again,
As the hunger pangs grow.

From the corner of my eye,
I watched you breathe me in.
I could feel your exhales,
With each passing of my skin.

You paid such close attention,
To every perfect imperfection.
You examined each curve,
As I welcomed your warm infection.

The next days will go rolling by,
As the memories do remain.
For once, I wish a week was shorter,
Just to consume that feeling again.

Hurry up and wait, they say.
Easier said than done.
The minutes will feel like hours.
So slowly the clock will run.