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.