Your fingers, your palms
The beat of my heart
In your hands.
Your hands
The longing is madness
I tell myself, you
Are only a representation
Of yearning. Of possibility
Of desire.
Of something I’ve been missing
But I don’t believe it
When I say it.
Because I feel transfixed.
Your eyes, make me guilty
Your absence feels heavy
A week blurs past.
I think about you too often,
I should do something about this,
This crush will smother me,
But instead I drift,
Over and over again
Tracing imaginary lines
Across your palms
Reading into what I
Want to read into.
I don’t even know you
Not really, no not really
But, it feels like love and
Yet I know that it isn’t ?
I know, you are a figment
Of my imagination.
Attraction, constructed
Into something that fills
A void. A connection
Chemistry.
That might not even exist
Anywhere else but in my mind