She lies like a cat, quiet and lithe,
all in black: shadows, sweater and hair.
For now, she lights my fire.
I will not argue with inspiration.

My hands are impatient.
My heart is timid.
My eyes are busy
along her slim hips
and bottomless eyes.

She has awakened a passion in me.
It rises like a bear upon awakening:
lumbering and hungry.

But were she to deny me it would destroy me.
Does this explain my reluctance?
Does this excuse the stillness of my tongue?
I doubt it.
But I have never been brave, and I will not begin now.
Crucify me, for I refuse to be a hero.
Hang me by my soft hands and brittle bones.
This I could accept, this I would understand.
But I will not risk a broken heart,
or another almost-lover.

AcB 10.29.00