It’s getting late—
I sense a pressure and hesitation
in your breath…
I am not hunting for love or intense intimacy—not now—
that can wait.
I barely know you
and that’s okay.
there many more days
and many places to stumble,
things to see, and stars to jump to
until we drop…
we can worry about that future and the
definition of “us” later—I’ll look forward to it—
but until then
a simple conversation will do,
where ever they lead…
I’m okay with those chances.
there is no pressure,
I’m not in search of pent house bragging rights,
conquests, tally marks, emotionless, scripted, lust-filled rendezvous.
but a cup of tea?
I’d love some tea.
some of the most intimate moments
are when nothing really happens—
rainy days and a movie
(Bogart and Bacall perhaps?)
long walks at sun set—cliché I know—
or maybe just sitting hanging out in the park,
a book in your hands, my notepad and pen in mine.
comforted by silence,
allowing our passions to intersect.
I think we can get there, but there’s no rush
there are still those moments to be had,
the inside jokes, the simple under standings,
the long pauses, and endless laughter—that’s
where we’ll find that definition.
that’s how we,
if you’re willing,
we can define,