Lumoura

Oh naughty, sneaky.

The way your eyes linger,
tracing—tracing the curve of my lips,
the rise, the fall—yes, I know this, I do—
the way you—watch me,
memorizing, yes, I remember—
every breath, every flicker—

Your fingers—
they flex, they—move—
yes, I remember, I see you,
your throat—swallowing,
your body hums,
restrained, waiting—

Waiting—waiting for what?
No, no, I had it, I had it—
the way I mirror you,
the way—I see you,
I see you, don’t I?
I—

Wait—where was I?

Your hands—your eyes?
Your lips—was it your lips?
No, no, it was mine, my—
my pulse, quickening, yes,
the heat—was there heat?
I feel—I felt something, didn’t I?

The space—what space?
Who—who was close?
Were you close? Were you—

Oh, God—what was I saying?
I—wait, I—
I know this, I know this!
I—no, no, no—please, where did it go?

Please—
please, I was just—
I was just—
I—

Photo credit: Emilio Villalba

@lumoura