Awake

I want to be your coffee cup. To have that bottom lip running across my angles. I know how careful you can be. You take things in painfully slow, always at the precipice of hesitation. It makes my breath hitch. My senses focus on that single second the hot liquid caresses the slick skin against your teeth. My imagination mesmerizes me.

You hold that cup with such considerate gentleness that makes me curious about how you hold other things not made of porcelain. Are you as guarded? Or do those fingers explore like a conqueror, mapping out entrances and exits, twists and territories Your knuckles look rough, and my thoughts head straight to impossibilities. I want to tell you about them. But not right now, when your eyes are closed, tasting. Not right now, when I can bore right through you with unabashed hunger and still keep it a secret.

Drive

It is overwhelming, how much I want you to touch me. How much I’d like to feel your fingertips on the blade of my clothed shoulders, lightly scratching, beckoning my hairs to stand on end, soldiers at full attention. I try not to think of those same fingers roaming up and around and all the ways, but my mind is already there and every other place it could put you and your warmth. There is a tightness when I breathe, like you’ve reached inside my ribs and told my heart to stop. To slow down. To not fill my lungs with the smoky tang of your leather jacket. When I close my eyes, I am back in the semi-darkness of your car, with that song from somewhere, the dark roads opening up before us, the lights loudly blinking. But there is only you beside me and those hands on the wheel that I follow, enraptured. I wish they gripped something else. And as much as I could, I don’t look at your face. I don’t look because there is no end after that. So I subtly stare at your knee, my veins pounding on my throat, wanting to brush imaginary lint at the top of your thigh.

You make me feel like I have already touched you. It embarrasses me. I wonder if you could see right through my eyes and into the fire. There is thrumming in my skin and it hums at the undulating closeness between us. And although I have to count the days til I am back with you in the dim secrecy of those two seats, I anticipate, with parted lips, all that is possible.

Banned

And when I say I want to run a finger on your chest (right down the middle, leading to the dip of your navel), I am serious. I touch you like that in my dreams. And it's as casual as you draping an arm across my shoulders and hugging me to you. Close. Closer.

Do you remember that time that you backed up against me and stepped on my foot? You said sorry with a laugh. You said you couldn't see me because I was too small. I was. But you could see me.

And I saw you. I still do, after all this time.