It didn't mean anything.
Not when he cupped my cheek,
Stroking his thumb over
The sharp curves of my jaw;
Not when he tucked my head
Into the slant of his shoulder,
And held me—for one, two, three
Seconds too long.
It didn't mean anything when he
Pulled me close,
And I went with him,
Like an echo,
Shadowing the reverberations of sound.
It meant nothing.
Nothing at all.
Not that I expected it to from the start.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
It didn't mean anything.
Not when he cupped my cheek,
Stroking his thumb over
The sharp curves of my jaw;
Not when he tucked my head
Into the slant of his shoulder,
And held me—for one, two, three
Seconds too long.
It didn't mean anything when he
Pulled me close,
And I went with him,
Like an echo,
Shadowing the reverberations of sound.
It meant nothing.
Nothing at all.
Not that I expected it to from the start.
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