It wasn't very long after the first sign of temptation that another arose even after you thought and said it wouldn't. Or was it couldn't? The relationship was complicated by the threads that intertwined us together. It was you that kept reminding me "we" couldn't happen. Now, I think you were telling yourself that to keep from wanting more.
There could be no more than my lips lingering on your skin but never to touch your mouth. My hands wandering with such restraint, never traveling to the heat of you. I know how you fought it squirming beneath my touch but never pulling away. Fighting to move closer to where my hand strokes your inner thigh occassionally just circling like I would inside you. I want you wanting. Anticipating.
Now, drunken phone calls reveal the you I know. Which is the real you? The one who ignores my gestures and feeble attempts to get you? The one who takes me to an alley, gets close enough for me to make a move, then backs away pretending nothing happened? The one who lays in bed beside me in my arms trusting my hands to wander?
The "We" to be left undefined.
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