Content in Your Arms

Inhale.

Your face brushes mine,
eyes closed and smiling.
Arms firm at my waist,
the back of your collar at my fingertips.
Swaying so close,
so warm in your embrace.

Exhale.

To be held,
not even loved,
but held,
is all I wanted tonight.
It doesn’t matter the music’s bad.
or that they think our pairing’s strange.
I am held close by you,
and satisfied.

Breathe.

You’re drunk, I know.
But that’s why I’m not kissing you.
Just dancing,
swaying in your arms.
Wondering if tomorrow you’ll remember.
Wondering if I’ll want you to.
Knowing that I will.

Inhale.

There’s so much to be said,
but our hands can say enough.
Introductions precedent,
any histories ignored.
Invitations of a longer night declined,
and the present moment encouraged.

Exhale.

I’ve missed the feeling
of being held,
of being close;
the warmth of a body
and sent of cologne;
the wonder of fingertips,
and intertwined arms.

Breathe.

I can smell the cologne on your clothes,
can feel your fingers at my waist.
This is what I wanted.
This is what I missed.
And I don’t want to leave
the warmth of your arms.

Inhale.
Exhale.
Breathe.