Jan. 28, 2004 @ 11:32 p.m.

Lets dance. I feel like dancing. I feel the need of your skin rubbing up against mine, your fingers sliding, gliding and grinding to a halt over my lower stomach’s slow curves. Your eyes melting through mine like a laser cutting through a diamond. Leaving me feeling as if dancing with the stars is second best to dancing with you, cuddled into my arms, slowly moving across a floor with no particular place to go. If I was an animal, every predator could smell the fear and vulnerability leaking from my pores. These thoughts, I can entertain no longer. Thoughts of sitting with you at the kitchen table, the morning light peering through the blinds as we sip on grape and orange juice, eating cereal in our pajamas. Playing simple games like footsies under the table and just enjoying the moment in our silent, yet audible stares of comfort. My fleeting heart is running along the fence like a large, starving dog that is being teased with a juicy piece of meat on the other side. Raking your skin with my finger tips, sending lightning bolts of energy packed with information on the sensual slide of your hair on my fingers as I place it over your ears for the best, unobstructed view of your face imaginable. Smile for me sweetheart, so I can paint your picture with the thousands of words that can do nothing but fall short of expressing you the way you do when you walk into a room.