by Karin Boye I know when you enter the room, I know from within my every nerve your hurried steps, which no one else notices. Around me a wind of fire sweeps. I know your steps, your beloved steps, and my soul aches. Though you pace far down the hall, the air billows from your movement and sings as the sea sings. I listen, caught in a consuming desire. In the rhythm of your rhythm, in keeping with your pace my pulse beats in hunger.