A casual affair, we’re warned,
never lasts for long,
but sometimes I’m drawn into things,
right or wrong, for . . . . .
I cannot help my finger reaching
out to touch your lip,
to trace across your cheek,
to stroke your hair.
My eyes, drawn into yours,
fall heavy with desire,
and yours, drawn into mine,
are candles’ fire.
At first I follow protocol.
You’re free to go or stay.
Averted eyes and small talk
give room to break away.
But soon I feel you bowing to
the aura of my touch.
Our hands entwine. Your lips brush mine.
Such tenderness! Too much!
Surroundings fade
to a distant wavy sea.
There’s nothing can deny our
strange familiarity.
The nearness of your shoulder
makes a tightness in my chest.
Your breathing, too, grows shallow
as you slightly trace my breast.
As calm, as sure as ever
anything can ever be,
I know that I want you
and you want me.
Your face, your form
accept all that I do.
The world is re-defined –
There’s me . . . . . and you.