She teaches her body to ache for him
move for him and dress for him
reject the familiar banter and comfort
in knowing he is close.
She banishes familiar kisses
to muster the mystery
that moistens her;
she loves him but she has
each molecule committed to memory.
This is love, yes
but she must back pedal a bit,
clear the air to feel the ping in her inner pit
when he comes near-
just like it was, just like it used to be
before they occupied each others’ hearts.
When he was just a body at the bar.
When he was just a dark haired conquest.
When she was just a hungry girl.
Feed me, she says.
Feed me.