You could bring me to my knees,
still can,
when you danced, flitter feet,
across my ****** mind
(Have you done this before?)
When we touched, my mind blushed
at what might happen
(still might?)
"This isn't a good idea." "No."
Still isn't.

Then, I hated the way you lingered,
still do,
when you hid behind every synapse
chasing way venturous new thoughts,
but different now.
The world calls my attention,
you sit, laughing, mocking,
still lingering.