unpredictablebijou
Peril!
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2007
- Posts
- 5,507
Leonine, she stretches her languid arms to
nearly touch mine across the restaurant table.
Driving in has tightened her shoulder muscles.
She leans to touch me.
How we have approached and avoided each other
through the years, making cool invitations,
touching hands, or letting our gazes flicker
toward one another.
Is it now? Is it time for the actual truth of it,
or will we spend yet another reluctant evening,
dancing in and out of the maddening topic:
who will begin it?
Neither one of us has quite the courage to do it.
I'm convinced I'm too much in love here already.
She'd be shocked at the level of hunger I'd show her
like some crazy stalker.
But if you saw her, you'd understand me completely:
ash-bright hair of a thousand impossible colors,
caught back wild and uncombed in a straining elastic,
coiling like serpents,
and her eyes, it's so stupid to try to describe them.
Blue, yes, blue, but the color is thoroughly pointless
It's just that startling depth, that completeness
that lack of armor
It pins me down to my seat in the restaurant
frozen in the shock of a gaze almost brutal
if it weren't so slick, and so sharp, and so cooling
and full of amusement.
And her voice, the smoky conspiracy of it
low and rough, like Lauren Bacall on a bender,
husky doesn't even begin to cover it.
Trust me, it's maddening.
Jesus Christ, I want her so hard I can't think straight,
never can, whenever I'm looking straight at her.
I'm quite sure that it's not going to happen this evening.
Or ever, most likely.
Let this be enough for another year
this short dosage of her hypnosis and colors
and let me be such a brilliant goddess on paper
that next year, just maybe...
nearly touch mine across the restaurant table.
Driving in has tightened her shoulder muscles.
She leans to touch me.
How we have approached and avoided each other
through the years, making cool invitations,
touching hands, or letting our gazes flicker
toward one another.
Is it now? Is it time for the actual truth of it,
or will we spend yet another reluctant evening,
dancing in and out of the maddening topic:
who will begin it?
Neither one of us has quite the courage to do it.
I'm convinced I'm too much in love here already.
She'd be shocked at the level of hunger I'd show her
like some crazy stalker.
But if you saw her, you'd understand me completely:
ash-bright hair of a thousand impossible colors,
caught back wild and uncombed in a straining elastic,
coiling like serpents,
and her eyes, it's so stupid to try to describe them.
Blue, yes, blue, but the color is thoroughly pointless
It's just that startling depth, that completeness
that lack of armor
It pins me down to my seat in the restaurant
frozen in the shock of a gaze almost brutal
if it weren't so slick, and so sharp, and so cooling
and full of amusement.
And her voice, the smoky conspiracy of it
low and rough, like Lauren Bacall on a bender,
husky doesn't even begin to cover it.
Trust me, it's maddening.
Jesus Christ, I want her so hard I can't think straight,
never can, whenever I'm looking straight at her.
I'm quite sure that it's not going to happen this evening.
Or ever, most likely.
Let this be enough for another year
this short dosage of her hypnosis and colors
and let me be such a brilliant goddess on paper
that next year, just maybe...

