The trail of smoke lingered from your mouth as you studied mine with such a fierce intent that my knee began to shake.
Under your stare I felt like art; a revered piece of work finally appreciated for all its flaws and awkward brushstrokes.
You extended your hand using your fingers to trace the shape of my arm - circling my wrist - finally resting in my unsteady palm.
Your overwhelming strong skin against my own frail tapestry.
Across the table, I was mesmerized by the slight curl in your smile - the smirk you set free when your thoughts have admittedly run rampant.
You found the way I hold my wine glass amusing and I was suddenly envious of your cigarette; cradled tightly and pressed against your lips.
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