Slow Burn (more title)

Don’t kiss me yet.

Stand a little closer,
close enough that I forget
which of us erased the space.

Smile the way you do
when you’re pretending
not to know exactly
what you’re doing.

Let your hand
almost find mine.

Almost.

There’s a delicious kind of trouble
in unfinished things,
in glances that linger
a heartbeat too long,
in laughter that suddenly
doesn’t know where to go.

I want the electricity
before the lightning.

The inhale.
The pause.
The impossible question
hanging quietly between us.

Because sometimes
desire isn’t written
in the kiss.

Sometimes it’s written
in every beautiful reason
we haven’t kissed yet.