Tiptoeing.

If I told you a secret,

of love I found and hid,

would you then be my love?

If I wrote you a letter,

giggling and blushing for I'm over the moon,

would you then join me where I am?

Those are my confessions.

If I brushed your hand shyly,

and waited for your eyes to meet mine questioningly, would you then see my eyes light up with you?

And if I, if I knowingly kissed you with reverence,

how you'd once said you wished to be kissed,

would you then return that kiss and glide with me?

Those are my questions.

If, you and I shed all restrictions,

came before one another, bearing all we've been tiptoeing around,

would we then become lovers?

This is my position.