These words are yours, borrowed.
Drawn from the air as you slide across the room at the edges, looking on;
Words from your questioning eyes as you speak with your groups and I with mine, side glances, lingering. Space demanding touch, fingers, lips, the curve of your neck, quick breath, delivering distance.
I fold them into my pocket, the unfinished words of coming and going.
Suspended they are, in the incomplete transaction, questions missing answers, leaving unsaid what hearts know but glances lack the courage to say.
In the puzzle at the corner of your eyes, the words of desire and unintended sadness unfolded, left crumpled on a side table as your back leaves through the tall, dark door, closing on that chance that I could place them gently in your hand or breathe them into your ear, softly, and brush away the mist of loneliness that hugs your cheek.