You cast your eyes down and I see your eyelashes, black and white, alternately gracing the see-through skin. You are in a state of such vulnerability that I do not even want to tell you, dare to tell you,
how beautiful you look from here, how your -
How you amaze me just by sitting like this,
so obviously ashamed of the closeness and with what is materialising
in the air, so thick we could slice it, and probably do so -
I think too much, still.
And you probably hear me thinking, not the thoughts though.
But I let a bit of the time pass, just like this, looking at you
because I cannot not be looking;
you averting your gaze, exuding what I feel to be just one
beat away from connecting.
I will wait a bit more, but I will not walk further away from here.
For I already see your left hand twitching a little, relaxing
just a tiny bit, getting ready to actually stretch out - and it makes
my stomach and throat and chest tighten in a rebellious sort of maybe-it’ll-be-too-much - so yes, it is me, too. It is me who is making the air thick, and my breathing heavy.
A sense of foreboding so palpable.
So I’ll wait.