What you do to me, is a deadly ritual, performed
So very carelessly. I’ll never know how you manage to move me in this way.
But I’m giving my effort this morning…
I’m giving my energy, and all the glory…
Straight up to you.
When we touch,
It’s really no mistake.
Being close to your body,
I’m at peace. I’m relieved.
But when you look up at me,
With that radiating glow…
What am I supposed to do,
But want you near me?
I’m not talking about
Taking off our clothes,
Or swapping spit.
I don’t mean sucking the color
Away from your bottom lip.
I’m talking about something we both must feel.
But just as real
As anything we could only do in private.
Because we don’t even have to go there.
We’re already inhabiting our own unique space, only existing between us.
The subtle brushes… They’re enough.
The atoms composing my blood are charged by your power.
I don’t care who thinks it’s wrong.
What do they know?
What does anybody know,
In a world where nobody is ever sure
Where they’re going?
What’s real, is my craving for you.
What’s real, is the natural deepening of my voice, in your presence.
What’s real, the genuine attention
I willingly pay. Without thinking.
What’s real, are your careless glances… You slip all the time.
If you only knew the work I’m willing to do…
And I don’t have to touch it.
If you spend the time on me…
I’m gonna drive you crazy.
And I hate to end a confession
With an accusation…
But tell me please, if you relate.
We must share this passion.
It’s just too heavy, too wide
For either of us to carry on our own.
So much a part of me are you now
That I can dream of you at will.
In this mirage, your smile shines like
A distant star,
That has already died.
Dead, so long before I knew that I could travel there,
And bathe in your purifying rays.
That I could worship at your scalding surface.
No, I wouldn’t burn… Because too late, I’ve learned…
I don’t have to touch it.