Assorted thoughts on last evening…

A handful of errant hairs,

tracing lines down the pale skin of your neck.

The faint smell of shampoo carried to me

as you let the rest of it down and brushed it out with your fingers.

A laugh. Your voice.

Later, I noticed we kept having our hands in the same positions,

one on the knee, the other crossed to the elbow, or

clasped together in our laps, or

one hand on a knee, the other on a lap

but for a while there, always the same.

And I wondered if I was subconsciously mimicking you,

or if you were subconsciously mimicking me,

or just chance,

or something else?

I very nearly touched your bare shoulder as I walked past and declared that I had survived.

That would have been a step too far.

But to feel your skin under my fingertips,

even if for only an instant…

Not yet. Not yet.

It has to be right. It has to be right.

Even though that may well mean it never actually happens

in this lifetime.

Perhaps the next.

I'll be waiting.