We're sitting across the table from each other, never kissed, never touched, maybe never will, but the possibility thrums in the air like a candle's heat. I keep watching your lips, waiting to feel your eyes stray to my breasts, where my nipples have been teased hard by the light fabric of my shirt.
They don't, though, and I'd say you weren't interested, except.
Our legs crossing and re-crossing. Hands flip through the air then at a loss, trembling uneasy animals in our laps, tapping across the table. The thought of a kiss passing behind your eyes before you blink.