Teabags make me think of tampons.
The slow oozing of color into liquid.
I watch you dip yours
into the hot water 4 times
and decide not to laugh
because I don't know if you will appreciate my sense of humor.
We stand 9.7 feet apart
(a respectable, explainable distance in case someone walks in).
The filthy urge to beg
for your hands around
is SO strong
I half-wonder if I can ever entertain the thought of love without pain.
4.3 feet apart
tea is going cold
on the counter
as we talk about 7 topics n 19 minutes.
We just finished debating the practicality of llamas as pets. It's our first stupid inside joke, and I feel a little less alone.
I'm still weird though.
Can you hear my heartbeat
when I'm 2.4 feet away?
I can almost taste the nervous energy beaming out of you.
It's not just me.
I pose one (1) hand on my hip
for two (2) reasons. Trying to be casually sexy
hiding the earthquake-level shaking it keeps doing
without my goddamn permission.
Damn useless shaky-ass disobedient hand.
I close the distance
as if there's someone invisible
pushing the small of my back.
1.3 feet away now.
She's part of me that wants this before I even know what
shimmies up onto my
Gravelly voice vibrates in my ear.
She loves the way you bite your lip
and tells me I can
talk myself out of this (if I have to).
And that's how it starts.