Or, that thing in which I keep waking up with fragments of love poems in my head even though I am not in love or even, for that matter, actually dating anybody.
If I could only hold you for an hour
Or three, and feel the contours of your face
Against my hands, I would learn not to fear
The terror of my heart beating its drum
For the world to hear, or feel your heart
Beating against mine, chest to chest
In the tangle of the night.