You.
You who I hold, fingertips placed against the smol of you back. I pull you closer. Begging for your touch, begging for the taste of your lips.
Sure as the sun will rise from the horizon, I will ache for you.
No, we are not two but one.
Not people, but person.
See, I can't tell where my skin ends and where yours begins.
A monotone "yes". I can't get my voice above this octive, the catch in my throat.
I choke.
Your radiance is transcendent.