She has been the door, he the key.
Now and forever more it has been
the same story. Sorrow and
ecstasy, love and loss.
Yet here he stands, against her intense curiosity
her nascent desire.
He holds her face like a child's face, a doll's
face. Small and delicate.
Unwittingly casting a spell. Breathless in the moment.
She arches for him, does he ache for her?
His kiss a drug, a rush. Too powerful to let go.
He is like holding an instrument she has never
learned to play. She understands his longing,
his fear. His mistrust. She knows all his secrets.
Body to body and worlds apart.
Never once did she allow herself to believe.
She turns and walks away to the door,
forgetting the key.