Poetry (words)

I don’t 

It would be the cruelest thing to do. For me to kiss his skin and imagine that he’s you. To feel his fingertips while I’m still aching for your lips. So I don’t. 

I stand clear, like a frightened child.  I close my eyes and  see you still driving me wild. Every glance I decline.  Every word is a thrill down my spine. So I don’t. 


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