In my dreams, you sit.
In a grandiose fashion,
quite comfortably taking up space that is not yours to take.
Your reserved smile, charm, and magnetism
aren’t even fair in their irresistibility.
Without even noticing it myself, I act confidently for once around you,
and I look down to find my arm resting partially on your leg.
Immediately and clearly, what I do notice is you
finding meaning in my arm making as much lateral contact with your leg as possible.
You look at me,
in the way that tells me how beautiful I am,
that feels like all of those people all of those times in my life telling me how beautiful I am
And it feels so dangerous
And so real
and more connected than almost anything I’ve ever felt.
And you awkwardly and self-consciously take your hand and try to touch my knee.
That glimpse of self-consciousness endears me even more to you.
You think twice of it and pull your hand back into your own zone.
You decide to use your words—
your words which are your power, your energy, your strength, your intoxicating voice.
You build rapport with your words.
You know how to smile and when to.
Your eyes lock with mine.
Your friend comes over,
makes a lewd comment,
and just like that, you’re gone.
You remain seated on that couch
but turned away from me.
You are inaccessible,
giving me nothing,