What if I bumped into her in a queue but we weren't ever meant to cross paths?
What if she told you she would have been on time for meeting you if it wasn't for that short guy who tripped over his own shoelaces and then proceeded to drop his change?
What if that was all that was needed to break the ice, tension shifting, a light hearted swipe at men's uselessness, while snaking your arm around her waist and kissing her firmly on the mouth. ''Men, who needs them, huh'', she is yours, she is putty in your hands.
She replies, ''Not us, baby, not us''.
I am long out of sight but this is what I overhear.

the belt around her waist,
mimicked your pale hands
forming an "o,"
while your fingertips meet.
though I told myself
my curves are as gorgeous
though your fingers never graced
anything thinner than my wrists
or the neck of your guitar
i felt my cheeks drain of blush
and replace with the color
of the grass
i rather lay in
than jog through
because the only sweat
i'd like to break
tastes like yours
and mine
and ours in a kiss
while your fingertips meet
around each one
of my *******
and inside me

As the ink sinks into the paper
i burrow deeper
inside of myself, until i am lost
in words, alliteration, commas and
full stops
to crop my faults
and tie my edges together
sew myself,
with rhythmic leather
in an attempt to hold secure
My frayed mentality,
conceal the reality,
That i have fallen apart,
Glue together new beginnings and fresh starts,
With ink at the heart,
Of it all.