Drawn closer
hands light on each other
hips, waist, back of the neck, hair.

The epitome. Iconic 
eternal centre of the world.

But we are frightened.
Here to express ourselves, boy and girl
are we to play a role, representing our kind?

Must the gale flourish it's cape
virile as a matador
while sweet leaves of the tree
sigh a chorus in unison?
Perhaps so.

And as we take the stage
must the heartfelt motion fight
against the common gesture?
Must we wrestle our fate as satellites in orbit
traversing again the well-known lines?
perhaps so.

I suggest modesty is the silent dew
on fields abuzz with a new dawn.
You tell me shyness is an escaped prisoner
out of his comfort zone.
We smile but all grows quiet
we fear our own tentative words 
may be set in stone, rolled out years later.

Frightened and perfectly desperate
to be taken as genuine
we whisper our confessions
doubt our own feelings.
Believe me, I love you.