Attraction

It is not a name or face or tactile sensation, rather it is breathless, open ambiguity. The slick-wet tongue twists sounds across intonations and lingering eyes lock deep into private feelings of warmth, and desire, and shame, and reckless abandonment. These accidental touches electrify that scare of crossing imagination into reality, leaving each with separate unfulfilled aches, reasons, and reactions. This dream of you, fogging my waking thoughts, crosses over into an unexpected morning elevator ride and those edges of our nervous smiles are reflections of hurt-riddled loneliness and unfulfillment which simply cannot choke off climbing vines of hope. A name feels good to express across my lips as if it were a kiss carried on the projected light of my inner burning for the one that is forbidden by inexpression, situational disruption, or society's bitter scrutiny. Dreams, locked so deeply inside, seep out on channels of kindness, compassion, care within renegade, intuitive impulse. Without ever saying it aloud, we have carved soft recesses of retreat into one another's embrace, curled whirlwind connections into cat's cradle puzzles of our lives' histories, and crossed into places which are inaccessible to share with mechanics of the brain. No picture, no position, no "move", no experience: just hot-sexy, unspoken tenderness willing for embrace.