Brush

Stay in line
you're (not) mine
'till eight past nine

Mirroring my posture
but nothing to offer
except a brush of your leg against mine (softer)

A split second spark where our pulses match
our breath catches and
we move back

Too close spaces with far away paces
delicious treasures
unconsumable for pleasure

Reviews

[Mari' Emeraude]

I was curious what this poem was about from seeing the title. I'm glad I stopped in to read! A tribute to those first glorious seconds when our hearts flutter at the possibilities of a new romance??