I contact...

Eye-contact.

Inviting.

Shockingly direct.

Forbidden fruit.

Where a nervous smile would do

A look held too long, too frank

Too honest,

Penetrating my soul.

A glance around,

Still unobserved.

Head turning,

Drawn irresistibly back

To the invitation.

Eyes burning into me,

Pleading now,

No longer with a smile

No longer mischievous

But needy, demanding.

The look held

Momentarily

Until reason wins through

Calculating the odds

And nervous smile replaces

Confident gaze.

I won’t do this now.

Eye-contact broken.