I was going to wait.
Then, I was going to call.
Now I've decided to write, to afford you the opportunity to think before you respond, or to not respond at all...or for myself to rescind. So here it is; I am lying in my bed, window open on my second story with cool air teasing my skin. I'm thinking that last night we kissed and lips I've known for thirty years became suddenly full, soft. I breathed you in for a moment, heart shaking, knees pounding and then gone. Driving away, I wondered if I should have stayed. Instead deciding to wait and see if this feeling would just go away. Is it the same fire lightning of firsts, or could it sustain? I let my stomach continue on its nervous rant and stayed on the ride a bit longer. Keeping rationality at bay for the moment didn't seem overly indulgent. So I drove through the trees and night dreamed scenes with you.
Oh, the beauty of being a woman. The tingle that starts down beneath becomes electricity in all directions. The flutter of skin, the numbness of lips, staggered breath and a seeming loss of skeleton. We become overcome in our own thoughts, a dangerous place that begs to linger.
One day, two...how long should my patience extend? I've no idea the rate feelings must dissipate to prove lust. I suppose at some point you just know and it lives inside of you. It is two days now. My fingers stretch and recoil, quiver, and try again. Yet I hesitate and will not dial your name. What would I say?
