Approach

I tell myself it's safe.
This warmth.
This nearness.
Love.

My skin does not believe me.
I feel everything at once.
The drive to pull toward you
and the instinct to pull away.

My mind still scans for exits,
measures the distance to the door,
keeps one eye open
even as my body leans toward you.

When you stop just short of touching,
my skin burns with it.
With the almost.
With the question your hands ask
without asking.

I'm afraid of wanting this.
Afraid of how fast my body remembers
what my mind is slow to forget.
Afraid of how good it feels
to be touched
without being taken.

Still balanced between reach and recoil.
Still learning the shape of desire
without demand.

Still learning that touch
can arrive slowly,
and leave the door open
behind it.