Fantomte

She licks her lips as she gets close to me. I touch her hand to prove that this is real. She grips me tight, as if she thinks I’ll flee. Although she knows I’m where I want to be. This love is true. It’s more than some appeal. It’s past some petty touch of skin on skin. Our love is one the gods all want to steal. It’s all they want. It’s just one chance to feel, yet still they stay. They know they can not win, and so they watch as they admit defeat. They see the space amidst our lips get thin, but they don’t feel the breaths that we hold in; the ones that we let go before we meet; the wind that sends