Hands brush my cheek and our eyes meet,
Actions bold but I can tell your heart is weak.
Chest creating it’s own rhythm to which you’re a slave,
If I bury these movements it could prove grave.
Body one with the atmosphere, stagnant and tense.
I never could handle this infinite suspense.
© Akeem Rowe Kingsinister, 2016
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Reading this gives me this image in mind: I see two people inches away from another, close to kissing, but don’t–maybe because it’s forbidden to, or they aren’t together or just broke up. A kind of drama/romantic interaction with little physical contact. I like it.
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That’s exactly it aha
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