my synapses fire like artillery cannons
and the pistons of my heart roar to life
whenever you grace my mind with your presence

i find myself wanting to be
more than fleeting glances
across concrete streets

i simply wish you'd love me like you love coffee
and old sweaters
and older records
and the smell of the ground after the rain.

there's so much space in my bed that you could be filling
all this and more is possible
if you're willing