She faces me,
and I face her,
Dissonance misting the small space between our eyes.
Our understanding,
Our sense.
Peaceful,
but beneath the skin,
The black fangs of rotten desire clench around...

To force back the darkness would be wise,
the odd, clenching pang of want,
just under my tongue.
To not ruin,
to preserve this as it were.

I would **** for such luxury.

Yet still, eyes wander,
shifting to span her up and down,
Eyes map, spanning heartbeats, seconds, millenia,
until that peaces aches within me.

We are balmy happiness no longer.

For happiness is as bitter as the stinging ocean saltwater.
A moment passes.

The air maintains the consistency of clay,
Binding the two.
Yet the hands of anxiety keep a perfect blend from being kneaded.
A moment passes.

A reach, a grasp at any part of one another. To feel, to caress, to intertwine hands as if
python and prey;
All, I find, more adequate alternatives to a denial of the wiles of want.
A moment passes.