So soft:

'I could touch you all day’

you say to me from across the table

the words slip so freely from between your lips

though I don’t think you meant to be so frank

and your fingers tickle as they

sweep across my skin so fleeting

and I feel the blush spread

even as I try desperately

to tamp the heat from rising to my face

and teeth clamp down on my tongue

before it can form the words

in an open invitation

for your hands to roam across my flesh

in awe and exploration of

the softness you could have as your own

if ever you dared to stake such a claim

then, quickly, your fingers are gone

and I swallow my thoughts

as the moment is lost

like so many others before it

and I raise my gaze before you can drop yours and

our eyes meet for a brief instant

but just long enough for me to notice

the look on your face – familiar yet foreign

intentions that I can’t discern

and it terrifies me, the thought

that you may be the only one to ever

make me feel so deeply

but I hide that thought

away behind a nervous laugh

and we drink our tea, instead,

in a quiet nostalgia that

tastes of love