What if...?

This is a bit racy.  Just forewarning, because it's out of the norm of things I usually post.

 

We meet, and what ifs fill my head.  What if I were not me, unencumbered, free. But I am none of these things. I see the question cross in your eyes and it dances in my mind. What if….  I could touch you, hold you, have you?  What if…you could have me?

If simply wanting made things so, then I have held you and had you a thousand times, a million ways, a trillion days.  You have been mine, if wanting you was having you.  But desire and yearning, I am learning, do not always lead to possessing.  So, as the question of carnality dances in your eyes and across my skin, I feel my answer rise to the top of my mind.

I would think.  I would think long and hard about you.  About touching you, feeling you feel me.  I would enjoy the idea of lips and tongue and playful teeth tangled together; of fingers twisted into hair, passionately pulling.  Of weak, shaking legs filled with a lover’s waist, and the taste of sweat salted skin.  I would.  

I would think about you having me, and me having you.  I would think about you for as long as it took for the thought of you to send me star bound.  Then, when I spiraled down and came back to myself, back to my senses, I would walk away from you.  I’d keep the thought and leave the man behind.

You are beautiful and exquisite, brilliant and lovely.  You burned so brightly I was almost blinded.  But you are incredibly expensive.  You exist in a museum; a display of magnificence and artistic achievement.  You belong to everyone, and no one.  

I would gladly look at you, and look, and look, and look my fill, for you are generous with your display.  But I cannot afford the price I’d have to pay to obtain you, maintain you, and keep you, no matter how badly my fingers itch to trace the contours of your skin.  So you will have to stay where you are; safely beyond my arm's reach.  And I will have the what ifs to keep me company.