A certain something

I move away from you, I look away from you

My eyes averted, my attention elsewhere; anywhere but you

My voice is stable, my motions well controlled.  One

Would never know.  One could never tell

One might even guess the opposite

Not a trace of betrayal in my gestures.  As if nothing at all 

Nothing at all

And all this time

The warmth of your painfully-alluring chest is calling me

To sit in your lap, to have your arms round me, my head under your chin

The smell of you penetrate me

Was that the scent in my dream, when 

Your torso leaned back

Your sweaty skin against my breasts, glistening as if you just emerged from water

I say naught.  I do naught.  I say and do naught

In the face of this certain something

A skip.  A thump.  A skip, a thump, and a gasp—all at once

Even when our fingers slightly touched in an ordinary act of object changing hands; less then an inch, a few millimeters of skin against skin

Nothing much, really.  But

But 

I quickly step away and walk into the crisp autumn air

To type these words

From the safety of my keyboard

Aching for more