Blink twice if you want me

Our eyes met

At least four or five times

Before we ever did.

And yet,

It was that last time,

That they failed to find each other

Cast to the floor,

Adoring your lips,

Or vigilant of what was happening with my hands-

Their hands too full, it seems, to greet a gaze which was equally occupied.

An eye

Can grow shy,

After all.

And the bloodshot blush that lingered the next morning

Was all the reminder I needed

That I stared at the sun for too long