I hear you prepare to speak but stop, the soft click as the saliva snaps loose from the inside of your top lip and the curve of your gums.
The way your hand stands on the no-man's-land above my hips tells me you are undecided about your thought, fingers full of doubt, avoiding sex below the waist, the comfort of the chest and the honesty of the neck.
Your left foot nestles against the backs of my legs, resting softly in the gully between the both. There's no pressure though and I can feel that they aren't as warm as you'd like so what exactly are you weighing up in that baffling brain?
I open my calves a fraction, inviting in the foot...and in it comes, brushing the hair, sparsely worn by tight jeans.
You smell my neck, low, where it meets the shoulder blade. Fingers awake and crab walk a length northward, nestling over the heart.
I'm glad we had this talk.
