Dark hallway,
cold wooden floors.
From opposite sides
of the glass
we both watch
my hips
as they swing
back
        and forth,
back
         and forth,
back
         and forth.

They rock silently
and I can tell you're
counting the exact
number of steps
it will take to move
you closer to me.

And for the fifth
time today
you wonder what
you'd say
if only I invited you
to speak.

And for the third
time today
I'm staring at your lips
and wondering how
they taste.

And for,
what seems like,
the millionth time
today
neither of us move.
What a waste...