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The Tip of my Tongue
I don't ask for much
-- or maybe I do.
Ok, so, I ask for a lot.
-- or sometimes not enough.
I ask for the in-betweens,
the flecks of desire in your eyes,
your hand squeezing into mine.
I beg for the silent promises,
the i-love-you's without words,
the I've-waited-so-long kisses,
and the laughter that falls within.
I seek out, instinctively, the warmth of your hugs,
The gravelly smooth low quality of your voice,
And that darling half smile I hold so dear.
I ask for nothing,
and yet I ask everything of you.
I coax it from you with a simple slip of the tongue.
I ache and need and want..
to give and to take;
I ask for too much and say nothing at all,
I just lie here in bed, and continue to fall.
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