The lights flash, the music pulses and I am with you. You – a masterpiece, a Van Gogh all awash in glittering indigo.
Your arms are over your head, your hair fluttering in fated wind, your blue top rising, tantalizing over your abdomen and I feel like an inexperienced seaman.
I want to reach over and touch you, but I’m afraid of what you would do, what you would say, what you would think.
“How dare you behave in such a way!” I can already hear you say, content to alone dance the night away.
But should the music stop before I’ve finished, the stereo blaring out no more pop, hip hop and the keg drained of Guinness, I would deeply regret not baring witness.
Can I tell you you’re beautiful and would you understand, or will it seem I’m speaking a speech from a Finnish land?
Will you sway with me, play with me, stay with me?
I crave you but my heart flinches.
The world out that window is ours if only I knew- the violet and the blue, every purple and pink hue- if only I knew how to say I want you.
Is it love or is it lust? Whichever, my inhibitions bear no rust. The line between the two is fine, albeit not when compared to your godly tan line, your skin the complexion of the finest white wine.
Gewürztraminer, so long I’ve wanted her, though the thought of hurt and rejection makes me flip and flounder.
You’ve left me intoxicated in my finality but even that can’t give me the courage to break into this dream and pull you into my lacking reality.
I want so badly to seize you, to squeeze you, to please you, simply put I need you but how, damn it, do I tell you?
From your dazzling precipice on the dance floor you feed the assembled masses with a kiss, blown here or blown there, making them roar with approval from the occasional glimpse of your majesty’s underwear.
They lap like dogs at the scraps tossed from your otherworldly table but you see my dear, I want more than glances at rosy red underwear.
I’m not content to alone merely leer but want to make you moan and gasp and, O! to be that imperceptibly near!
Yet still rejection is the fear that holds me in its youthful grasp, inches but still miles from you.
I need a map to find my way out, a guide, a soul.
I’m stuck in this shrinking cubicle, if only I could be honest and say these two simple words: you’re beautiful.
But if those words were to pass my lips, I wonder would you think I’m speaking Finnish, my chances then diminished and I relegated to the distance?
For if so I, like this poem, would then be finished.