We are both
   in motion—
   pushing,
   pulling,

   burning through the hours

As if we can outrun
       this tension.

She works her body,
    muscle and will—

    every rep,
    every mile,
    every bead of sweat…

    another second conquered.

I work my mind—
    fingers flying,
    lines of code stacking,

    each keystroke a placeholder—
    for the touch I can’t have…
                               yet.

Ten hours.

Ten thousand heartbeats.

It’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

Because even as we move,
        we stay locked—
        in step,
        in thought,

        in each other.

The space between us
    is loud—
            charged,
            electric,

    like the moment
    before…
           lightning strikes.

And all the while—
    between the sets,
    between the lines—

    we talk.

Constant.

Unbroken.

The tether holds,
    no slack,
    no escape.

Kinetic—
    A tension that can’t
                        stay
                            still.

We want.
   (I want.)
We ache.
   (I ache.)
We *wait.*
   (I _can't_ wait.)

The air—
    thick,
    heavy,

    too thick to hold—

    with the weight of
    what we can’t say.

But even still—
       we burn.