i stroke my own hair,
and it sends shivers down my spine.
i run my hand over my own skin,
and i feel gentle touch
more than i feel flesh beneath my fingertips.
my body is priming itself for love.

we are both fantasizing about watching the stars.
i plan to take him down to the lake late at night.
no one will be around to chastise us
for sneaking onto one of the docks
meant only for private use.
what we are doing will be private, anyway.

we will gaze across the placid water,
illuminated only by the the moon,
engorged and hanging low in the sky.
we will lie back and count stars,
fingers entwined.
maybe i will get him to speak danish
and there will be no sound
save for soft words
in his mother tongue.
i will lie there
and i will wonder
how i ever
lived without this.