Electricity

This part isn't true:
I think I want to have my heart broken. That way, I can always be falling in love. I think I’m addicted to that feeling you get when you think about someone you want. That electric rush, all excitement and desire and passion. And you want her, you want her so bad your heart beats irregularly and your blood becomes liquid electricity even though you’re just lying in bed. The brief moment of weightlessness before you fall back to Earth. All that matters is the quiet touch of her glistening lips and fingers drawn across her naked back. Legs interlocked and the faint smell of her hair that you use to tickle her slender neck. Every time you exhale you want to fill the empty space in your lungs with her scent, her breath. There is a hole in your chest and it creates a vacuum that draws in air and energy and if you don’t feel her skin on your skin your body will cave in on itself. The contrast of her dark hair on the white pillow case is most noticeable at night, when the only sound is the rustle of sheets as they rise and fall with each effortless breath she takes. Crisp autumn air pours through the cracked window and you can’t tell if your hairs are standing on end because of the cold or the electricity between bodies. She is on her side and the sheets rest at the summit of her hips, a single finger whispers lines of latitude up her meridians, following epicurean topography. I think about her clothes on the floor, how her jeans seemed to melt off her body, how her shirt slid over her head in one flawless motion, how her bra came off like turning a page in a book.

Another fragment of the novel. I need to find another word for "electric."