When the sun streams through the sky scrapers

I sit in my concrete park and think about you

And I shiver in the January air

But it feels appropriate

 

I think of the way I shivered

The first time you touched my arm 

And you didn't see 

Because I hid it well

 

Not the first brush

Not a bump or a stumble 

But a firm grasp as you tried to reassure me

Or tell a joke

 

I really couldn't say 

Because I was preoccupied

With the tingles you sent up my spine

And I stopped listening to you

 

Sorry

(I'm not that sorry) 

 

You give the smallest actions meaning: 

 

You stroke my hair and I think

Never stop

You're ruining my hair

Never stop

I can feel knots forming

Never stop

You'll regret it in the morning

Never stop

 

You rub my back-- small circles 

I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean

And everything has always had 

A translation

 

Your forehead on mine means you want to kiss me ( you won't) 

You hand on my arm means you want to sooth me (you do) 

Your fingers in my hair mean you want to feel close to me (we are) 

 

But small circles I can't translate 

And I can't focus on anything but the sensation

 

The wind blows

I shiver

It's been 10 minutes 

and I haven't moved

 

The sun has dipped behind a building

blocked by the 30-something-th floor 

The moment was fleeting 

Just like the shivers

 

For someone so turbulent I feel at peace

And realize I have no idea what doing

I go back to my cubicle

With the sensation of you swimming in my veins

 

And I shiver