Member-only story
Our bodies will shake,
this is inevitable,
when our eyes first meet.
Then slowly, the trembling
and shivering shall merge
—the anticipation built
from writing one another,
and the tender revolting
against the image we’ve crafted,
of each other and ourselves,
in the crystallising of sentiments.
Hope then
we shall cherish
by holding hands
and looking up, defiant,
both deifying the other.
Strange things—
like lightning at dawn
on a Monday morning,
like craving for hours
for a body I’ve never known,
making out the surface of it,
the troughs and crevasses
where I’d rest my head
while you stroke my hair.
How did this happen ?
Go to the outside world now,
but leave me
with this look of privacy.
