We have done a dance. Eyes meeting eyes. Smiles exchanged. I sang a tune, Pearl Jam to be exact. And he whistled, Soundgarden, to be exact.
Electricity charged through the air, ions bumping ions, overheating, I wanted to taste his mouth; he wanted to taste a nipple.
I lounged back in the heat of the sultry sun while he drilled siding onto a house, neither of us could afford.
I watched, turned when he looked and he turned, when I looked.
Neither could commit, initially, to what was offered.
2 thoughts on “Noncommittal #amwriting”