I won’t touch your back, Even if you touch mine, As gratifying and as satisfying the shivers may be, Routing up my spine. Because in my soul, My emotions haven’t been consoled. It hasn’t been enough time, Since I allowed myself and my heart to be intertwined, With someone else’s, And prove that someone made me whole. If you press your lips against my own, They will stay firmly pressed together, Not shaken by your attempts to make me moan in pleasure. Or by the fact That soft lips, your lips, saw me suitable for contact. If you wrap your arms tightly around my waist, And try to gaze at me ‘tenderly’ in the face, Hoping that other actions would just fall into place, The rest of the script, I would just have to erase. If you open your mouth to utter words drenched in sweet, That were intended to sweep me off of my feet, My finger will gently press against your lips, So that your sentences will remain incomplete. If you run your hands over my flesh, In order to study the outline of my body, My hands of course, will run with you, But only to guide yours away from me.