Holding Hands in the Dark
 
 
Slouching lazily on the grassy lakeside,
 
I stare out at the peacefully tired water
 
as the last ripples die away like we were never there.
 
I try to reminisce of the days nautical adventures,
 
but my mind is clearly intent on only one thing.
 
She sits beside me like she has been all day.
 
Her olive skin eagerly soaks in the days fading rays.
 
Channeling my mind, the breeze tosses her chocolate hair
 
away from her hazel eyes.
 
Not a word passes our lips,
 
yet stolen glances, nervous giggles,
 
and the magnetic electricity between us
 
paints an awkward and beautiful picture
 
of love desperately aching to become Love.
 
So many times, her hand has has rested in mine,
 
yet I now feel as if I've never touched it...
 
I've never felt it.
 
Like a restless child on Christmas Eve,
 
I wish for the falling day to fall a little faster
 
so I can hold her hand in the dark.
 
This moment is ours and ours alone.
 
This beginning belongs to her and I.
 
Patiently, I await the final gasp
 
of the sky's glaring spotlight.
 
Under a cloak of warm, inviting darkness,
 
our hands begin a short, amazing journey
 
towards each other.
 
Inch by inch we come closer
 
to crashing into the unknown.
 
Our fingers meet with a gentle touch.
 
Our hearts meet with the fever
 
of the blazing sun we left behind.
 
 
 
Jeremy Halstead