I steal glances at your neck in the low restaurant light. The urban conversations around the room murmur, rise and fall, making your eyes sparkle. You are unaware of how your tenderness is framed by your collar, leading my eyes down the triangle of skin that disappears to a point at the center of your chest. I want and yearn. I can’t stop crafting its sculpture with my mind. Graceful bends. The hint of two muscles paired and in opposition. The soft sexuality is woven, unmade, and woven as your head moves to throw a smile, to tilt with inquisitiveness, to draw back in shock and concern, but most of all, just to be, just to invite, to draw me, to beckon me.
And your presence is like cool sheets on a summer evening. I want to find my shape within your shape. To fit with you like living pieces of a primordial puzzle. And my face would brush back the line of your jaw, and you would tilt aside your head for me.