The truth.
We are chemical.
You just brushed your hand across mine as you cut up tomatoes for our salad with dinner.
And a mad rush of warmth galloped up from my wrists to my everywhere.

How funny that I seek you out like this only so that I can dissolve.
'I am' wants to become 'I want'. And once it does, there's no leaving. I want, I want, I want. And that's bliss, just by itself.

I love that ever-present, insatiable thing that you do to me, some electrochemical zapper behind your eyes reducing the I-am to I-want.
And leaving it there, alone.