He wrote words that had soft fingertips,
with a soppy grip.
Accepting her graceful presence
with pillow chocolates.
He dared arrive into her bracing eyes,
that stares flames down from the sky.
He said he wouldn’t walk the path of broken rubble
risking the explosion of his personal bubble,
against the world.
Her ink started to spread in water on his arm,
where her number was written.
Drowning in the drizzle of night
he was smitten.
He became someone she’d want to be forgetting,
because when he is infatuated,
Doesn’t cut it.
He became the number, incomplete.
only one digit away from being able to speak.
It was then he remembered where she said she’d be,
the following week.
So coincidentally, they bumped into each other.
He was anxious, with a minor stutter.
He couldn’t wait, so he swiftly asked for a date.
She happily adopted the idea.
After a few more, things started to steer.
That’s when he had,
the best feeling ever.
It was right
BEFORE he kissed her.
Leaning in for her precious lips,
that were appearing softer than toilet rolls advertise.
He stopped, again!
To gaze into her eyes
which were now smiling
brighter than night stars.
A tsunami of butterflies occurred,
faces almost touching,
with pure nerves,
an overwhelming experience of clear ecstasy.
Ignoring the sound from the TV.
Or was it a CD?
He had great expectations of fireworks sparking,
an instant promotion or a sense of achievement
with his heart racing.
But as soon as their lips touched…
it wasn’t enough.