Flickering
The future reads like an unfinished novel
Promising
Yet alluding still
I wanted to press myself within you but I can't seem to hold still
70 degrees in December
Tornado watch over the city
While the true storm brews within me
Nothing seems clear these days
What has been
What has yet to be
And the real mystery is what's inside and all around me
Shimmering nerves
Late night stare
You say you hate losing sleep but you stayed up just to talk to me
Maybe so I'll meet you in sleep like you meet me in mine
And I can't get the idea of your hands out of my head
Tentative yet reverent tracing the edges of my tender form
Warm to your touch
I am warm to your touch and it isn't much but
I can't stop writing your name
Trying to catch your curiousity through the mutual language of our entanglement
The constant question: affection
The weight of your eyes from across the room
or from across the concept of distance  manifested through the digital age
We're both romantics anyway
So we go as moths drawn to the flame
The light from another room
The candle left lit for a lover or child
The future
Flickering but promising
Uncertain as a tornado in the midst of winter
The future comes in waves.