My hand searches for yours
under the table
in this semi-crowded place.
Our friends chat amongst themselves,
their words like white noise,
but they glance at me and you,
expecting you to make a move.
No one sees what we are doing,
but they know.

They know.

They grin and give you a thumbs-up.
I sigh,
half out of raging embarrassment,
half out of content.

My hand has found yours,
but now my lips want to do the same.