Familiar ache.
It's that cold slap of platonic,
you say to yourself.
Not allowed to admit it
to her.
You suppose.
Rules. And all.
Clothes you are not permitted to notice
making love to curves that lead
where gaze can't follow.
How can you not have thoughts?
You ask yourself.
Yourself is already convinced.
Of course.
It's easy.
You compliment.
As little as possible.
As much as is permitted.
You smile.
You change the subject.
The weather...
That reminds me of...
It has to be.
You know.
You wouldn't want to change it.
But, so often.
But, EVERY so often...
You know?
Yeah.

Labels: word doodles