My fingers are tingling and I would like to touch you. Not to kiss
you, not to fuck
you, but to pull my fingers through the air
between us and watch them fall slowly down your face. To feel the light on your skin
, new as the day, strong as your eyes
when you look up with that half-seductive grin on your face (you will never give up
no matter how much I throw back at you). A touch with water
in the place of fire
instead of lust
In spite of all this I am still paralyzed. Will you break the moment when it comes, sucking the life from it before its time? This is not what I want, not at all. Sometimes your breath chills me when I pass, sometimes it warms me. No in between. Perhaps I will forever hold on to the air between us, looking, smiling, never reaching. Not so bad really, when I think of the alternative.
You come to me after the show, telling me I move like a cool breeze, that you want me. Want, so...possessive. This is nothing new to you, but it catches me off guard. Would I turn away if you touched me first? Maybe I would. Then again, I never knew you anyway.