I focus on your fingertips
when you slightly slip them over mine,
just playing around,
just pouring your heart out.
But then you retract them
and pretend this didn't happen,
just a moment's notice 
and I'm tempted to think I
imagined it by myself.
So what's the story 
behind that sly tenderness?
You're blending impulse
with intention and 
driving me insane.
Everyday there's some moment
we take away,
there's some missing words
that haven't filled out
the entire picture yet.
Not quite colourful enough
to be less-than-innocent,
but not flagrant enough
to do me violence.
But I want your darkness,
about as much as I crave
your light; I want to dip 
in your delight and find the depth
you pretend is out of sight.
So why are you looking
so intently in my eyes?
Tell me what you hope to find
and I'll be inclined 
to make it all come true.
Just a few seconds between me & you
and I'm invested all day
in my abstractions.