For every time we exist on the same dimensional plane, a part of me is drawn to you.
My eyes do not move to catch sight of your impeccable beauty. My ears do not twitch at the sound of your angelic voice—nor your elegantly timed, rhythmic footsteps. My lips do not part and my tongue does not roll to articulate any greetings to you. My hands dare not stretch to feel the suppleness of your skin.
My nose, however… My nose knows not any bounds. It catches sight of you before my eyes can shift. The calming scent of flowers allows me to make it through my journey of knowledge... But the smell of something, something that I can only describe as devilishly aromatic, arouses a feeling of awe towards you.
What are you not but the finest woman?—I think to myself each time I inhale.
I run mad wondering how these other males beside me can act so calmly the moment you mix with the air. I envy their nerves of steel as I crumble.
...what if they've been denied the pleasure awarded to me? While they have to experience the mundane of your everyday existence, the fools will never know how deep you can implant yourself every time I breathe. Such thoughts are my solace. That a small part of you belongs to me.
I don't know how long I can last, I'm afraid. Dreams about decreasing our distance and having you absorbed into my lungs torment. I must convey these feelings to you. These thoughts that run wild every time you twirl in my vicinity. What's a poor soul to do but strive to get close to what fills his life with completeness?
My eyes break their oath and connect with yours. My lips separate and dispel their silence. My tongue dries out but still is full of vigor.
"H-Hey!"
"Yes?"
My tongue tenses but I cannot blame him. My ears protest, but offer itself up to the symphony that is your voice.
"I like your smell!"
I lock eyes, part my lips, and eagerly await your response. To focus on all of you like this… I'd probably die if I breathe.
The only one to stay through to his word, the last of the steadfast, has his defenses torn to shreds. The attacker? The delicate hand of a benevolent goddess. Oh, how could he fight any longer.
"I like yours too."
