The pixels of your face compel me to love,
the weight of your brow above unyielding eyes.
The temporary flux of conversation teasing,
while I throw myself deliberately into deep immense feeling.
Craving to see those three dots … ‘typing’
Know in that second, it’s of me you’re thinking.
Feel my stomach tightening into knots,
his time, attention, and energy,
I am hook and stealing through small slots.
The reason writers leap into love without peeking?
The best works are written when emotionally reeling.

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