I daren't (rather, shouldn't) breathe: I'd built a tower of hearts from cards. The gaps and breaks are real estate -- I'm nestled in the in-betweens.
(Sapp**'s spirit sighs. How human to not move quickly enough, or to yearn for whatever's inches from reach - blissfully unhinged by "almost".)
She's marble-carved and still as stone: if I kissed her, would she spring to life? I'd offer nought but foolish flesh, this trembling frame, and bone.
("Tell me yes, tell me no; either way, you're in the right, but for the love of Venus -- speak.")
i live in fear of all you haven't said and look for subtext in what you have. you leave me wondering whether you're oblivious to every hint i've ever dropped, or just reluctant to make the move, or deliberately ignoring the signals hoping i go away. am i overstepping the mark? can i shoot my shot? the last thing i want is to creep you out.