Hunger is when I look at you on the tram
Sitting across from me
I hold your hand, but I can’t do much more
When that already feels risky
My eyes trail down your neck
The soft skin on the nape of your neck
The sounds you make when I kiss you there
It’s driving me insane
Down your collarbones, your chest
That I have bruised over and over again
Much to your amusement
That one spot on the side, how beautiful you were when your body arched into mine and your hand subconsciously pushed my head lower
Your soft, sweet stomach
The source of many of your insecurities, I know
But I hope you know how much I worship your body
Not because of the way it’s shaped, from skipped meals and regular workouts
I don’t worship the shape of your waist, or the number on the scale that torments you so much
I worship the way your skin feels under my fingers
The way your body molds to mine so perfectly
The sounds you make
And the way you hold me close as I sleep