Touched

She wanted to hold him..

Maybe trace his square shoulders where his sweat laden crumpled cotton shirt hung not-so-loosely. She wanted to feel her fingers run through his hair cropped so short that it screamed summer!

She wanted to button his shirt down until the second just about enough to see the wheatish him suffused with his man-ish build...

She wanted to stage her fingers in small of his back... Him, looking into her eyes, him pushing a stubborn strand away from her face, as they talked unimportant things in the quietest of the lakes, under the darkest skies, the night only adorned by a few colored neons perhaps?

She then exhausted her love; touching him in the crowded marketplace, amidst loud hawkers, fuming hookahs and dull lightbulbs, only using her eyes.