Flushed cheeks and labored breathing,
pulse beating and pounding like crazy.
The noise of the crowd is receding,
hearing nothing but you speaking.
Trembling hands and weakened knees,
what madness is this, can you tell me please?
My mind’s thoughts are all quiet and still,
cold as ice like last year’s winter’s chill.
I am tempted to reach out and kiss
those lips of yours to taste real bliss.
But perhaps this is just a prelude to a dream,
where things may not be what they seem.
Or a deadly virus that is spreading inside me,
and one that I won’t do anything but leave it be.
-The Elusive Scribe 042513-