Midnight,

And I gaze through an open window
Into a reality that feels too sharp in contrast with my own hazy fantasy My cheek rests upon the underside of my arm
My hand delicately dangling off the painted white frame
Caressing the warm night air while you teasingly recite:
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!
My only response is a drowsy smile, to you
Then up toward the moon
My peripherals shaking the shadows that are tucked ominously away from the light

Oh,
Your face
Such sweet sorrow as your eyes close and one comer of your mouth drifts peacefully up Smirking about some sleepy secret I know you intend to keep
One hand on the small of my back, it burns
The other curving carelessly upward, almost touching mine
Making me shudder as the static energy of a budding romance erupts in all the places our skin barely touches

Or perhaps

That's the cold one o'clock breeze slowly drifting in, so quiet
The kind of silence that makes the world seem small And only the two of us exist
All the small peaks of me rise and there's this unexpected, overwhelming sense
An indescribable ache in my soul and stutter in my heart
As if we've been here before
Or are to be here many times again

But then you close the window
And the feeling is gone.