I don't know what I'm doing. Your hands on me Don't feel like fire Or ice. They feel like hands. Your wanderings don't make me gasp But they can make me sigh. I wonder what she'd think if she knew. I wonder if she'd care. I don't tell her In fear that she won't. Your lips don't send lightning down my spine, Or earthquakes through my stomach But... they are warm And I am lonely And you said it was a game you played often. All the same, I saw your eyes I felt your fingertips- They betrayed you, And when I wrote you back "I'll talk to you tomorrow." I wanted to add "P.S. Don't love me."