I was sitting in that private corner
of Mind when he approached me.
I smiled at him shyly from behind my
Hair, 'cause he'd always been over
There.
He was quite suddenly not There.
He was here.
And how he consumed my senses!
He made my stomach churn
In the most frightful pleasant way.
He was staring quizzically at me.
At me.
The first time anyone had looked
At not past or through or over
But right At me.
A hazel stare flicking over my nothing
Special, finding interest in the
Glimmer of tears. That stare
Warmed me with the light
Of questions unasked.
He touched me, touched my face.
A feather-soft caress, really.
He smoothed the salt from my
Face and kinda blushed at
Me. Like he surprised himself
With his temerity. But what's in
A Touch?
What's in a touch but fire?
And he slipped down the wall
Gracefully as falling
Pushed his glasses up on his
Nose and tried not
To embarass himself further.
And I smiled inside,
A Hesitance, and touched
Him back, twined my frail
In his long fingers.
The hazel flickered over me again
And I retreated, bright red,
But he had me tight.
And he made me wonder
What's in a touch but fire?