There are things sadder
than you and I. Some people
do not even touch.
Please hold me, because sometimes my hands tremble when I think of your form. I crave every warm line and soft movement, the rising and falling tides in your lungs. I need the warmth of your breath to leave fog on my glass eyelids.
I don’t want sex, I want the things that lead up to it. The slow kissing then the passionate kissing, then the pulling closer, the neck kisses, the grabbing, the biting, the heavy breathing, the grinding, the pauses while you catch your breath, touching each other. Then, I want sex.