waiting for the night when I get to show you,
a bit,
of myself,
a careful unwrapping of denim and cotton,
punching into the air of our gathered space.

waiting for the moment to see you again,
and to see a smile that promises, enjoys, and encourages.

waiting for a sigh and the smooth curve of a neck,
or a light dusting of fuzzy hair -
boundaries of cloth are so fragile,
shaping and cupping.

eagerly awaiting the feathering of fingers,
a lick of a thigh.

eager, and waiting, to explode into touch.