Nine hours—
     it felt like minutes.

She left,
    only to return in words,
    in late-night whispers,

    2 a.m. conversations that still couldn't say enough.

We fill every moment,
   stretch every second,
   squeeze out one more word,

   one more laugh,
   one more touch—

   And still, it's never enough.

Even sleep becomes a placeholder,
     a pause in the conversation,
     a brief interruption

     until we can wake and reach again.

It's ridiculous,
     impossible even,

     to want what you already have—
     to crave what you just tasted.

Otherwise: how can I explain
     that after hours together,
     after saying everything—
     and nothing,

     after holding her until she became part of me…

     I still wake up wanting more?