Here we are again—
     laughing,
     talking,

     letting the night slip right though our fingers.

Hours pass,
     stories unfold,
     glasses empty,

     but still we remain thirsty.

Not for drinks,
    but for something—
    we keep meaning to indulge,

    but somehow keep deciding not to reach for.

Nothing stands in our way,
    no obstacle,
    no hesitation—

    just the sweet distraction of one another's company.

Every night—
    we move closer,
    touch longer,
    smile deeper,

    until the space between us is nothing but whispers.

Yet somehow, (how?)
    night after parched night,

    we just keep missing the moment.

Thirsty Thursday,
    and here I am again…

    Glass Empty,
    Lips Dry,

    Heart: Full.

We both know what's waiting,
    just beyond the edge of hesitation,
    a taste we can't stop craving—

    but somehow keep delaying.

Wondering…

How much longer we can keep this thirst waiting?