It's the knife of not getting what I want it's
Smelling your chest, inhaling your scent
Your sweat drives me wild, I'm jealous I'm not the same for you and

Feeling you on me, your palms tracing down my skin,
Christening shivers with your fingerprints,
My body melding into yours
Frustratingly unfair, and you don't feel the same, and why-

In the library, when I disconnected myself from your chest
Even though every smell of you was ****** and
Every heartbeat was a syringe,
I lean up and whisper I want you,
And you tell me to be quiet.

You slay romance.

And in over a year of us, and no one else
(And I wonder, what would elses be like?)
Under a thousand days but more than 500
In an imperfect symmetry of silent games and angry longing

I want to make love to you quietly,
I want you to instigate it
I want to lie and feel wanted, not be reprimanded for every stray moan
I want you to want to hear me
With such a burning anger,
The unfairness that I want it all for me, and all for you

I want us to be seamless.

So fluid and streamlined that it's impossible to tell where

You begin and I end.