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."