A kiss

a kiss.
just one—a simple thing, really,
but that thing which has become the object of my desire.

I listen as he speaks;
so gracefully, so confidently, and so forcefully.
the depths of his glance reveal hidden layers of sensual promise.
all are bound by societal expectation,
but, if realized, pledge almost unimaginable pleasures.

sometimes I think he knows the way in which I yearn for him.
the way he touches my hand, brushes my shoulder,
and the briefest of truly intimate moments when I meet his eyes…
I wonder.

he has become my magnificent obsession.

his eyes arouse the deepest passions within me—
feelings which I never before conceived of,
ideas which were once sordid, trivial, and unthinkable
but in which I have now engaged, over and again,
though, admittedly, only within the confines of my mind.

*italics begin*
and now,
instantly,
the intensity of our unrestrained moment of intimacy
has bruised me with its splendor.

its beauty is breathtaking.

there is now no longer any doubt of his knowing.
for through his touch I sense his awareness.
and that thing which I most desired,
that thing for which I yearned hopelessly,
that thing
is happening…

has happened.

and in its occurrence,
has forever altered the tenuous constructs of our connection
*italics end*

and as I imagine the manifestation of my longing;
my desire for him is nearly overpowering.

to delve into his solitude,
beneath his forced indifference,
and immerse myself within his intensity--

these things have become the substance of my existence.

a kiss.
just one—a simple thing, really,
but that thing which will forever remain the object of my desire.