The storm rages wild outside the window
But with you in the room, my breath seems to slow
Till my fears brought on by the thunderbolts
Are not very much
Not even a little
Not even at all.
The glare on the wine glass from the glow of the fire
Warming me up from the inside and the bits of exposed skin
Till the chill from the wind
Is not very much
Not even a little
Not even at all.
As pleasant conversations turn to unspoken evaluations
Your eyes start to smolder
Till the space between our fingers
Is not very much
Not even a little
Not even at all.