Portrait of a Commitment Phobe

I steel myself for a slow dance,

As my waist feel the sliding of his hands.

Pulling me closer, ignoring his racing heart,

My head leans on to his chest.

As he gazes into my eyes,

I stare blankly at his.

He leans in and holds my chin,

As he touches my lips with his.

I pull back as I sense my tongue,

Afraid to be hooked with his.


He knows me on the surface

And I don’t to get him under my skin.

I want to tell him,

“Don’t ask how can I be so cold?”

But then I won’t answer if he asks,

“What made so?”


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