Love letter # 129
I am trying very hard not to make it obvious. Failing badly every time you come close. Something in your eyes, in the music of your voice, sets the horses racing. My blood gallops. Heart like a bass drum.
But you’re not like the haughty princesses that know every man is looking, whose painted smiles merely exacerbate their well-researched scorn. Your beauty is of an altogether warmer kind – your lithe, quiet grace unaffected.
You look so gorgeous in that floral summer dress you wear. Your tresses fall so hypnotically – and I am rooted to the floor. I look away, trace you with my other senses and, I confess, imagine how it would be to reach across the eternal uncertainty.
Your skin, your electricity, your lovely hand upon me – maybe even your kiss. I would risk my calm façade, use up my thin reserves of credit just to have the chance to know these things.