In a locked hotel room, two people are orbiting each other in loaded silence. There is desire, there is restraint, and there is the tyranny of civility. They choose not to act, and that becomes the bruise that lingers the longest.
Thank you for reading.
This can’t be a good idea —
locking our worlds outside
this hotel room.
You set the thermostat.
Isn’t it lava hot already?
“Let’s flip the TV,” you say.
No cable, just a NASCAR reel
my dad would know.
You hold up the minibar key,
raise an eyebrow.
“You want a drink?”
Voice casual,
as if we’ve always been roommates,
and not trapped in loaded silence.
No.
You know what I want.
I shake my head,
bite my lower lip,
tongue stalled in my mouth.
At the edge of the bed,
legs crossed too tight,
trying not to look at you
looking at me —
eyes seeing straight through me,
since that first drink at the bar.
Your knee brushed mine earlier,
ready to ruin us both
if we let it.
My body voted yes anyway.
Don’t let me be lonely.
Not tonight.
I can stay up till dawn,
but tell me
what shapes we will make.
This balcony.
Your yellow teeth
and those bite mark dents
behind your ears,
make you real,
make you mine
for tonight.
If you step closer this time,
I won’t step back.
I won’t slow us down.
What matters more?
Sitting here holding hands
or taking off my clothes,
to let the night decide.
Can my eyes rest
where fingers cannot linger?
Just once —
kiss me here,
and here.
You must.
Your laugh’s getting dangerous.
That invisible collar of
civility is tightening.
Damn.
Took one minute to fall.
A lifetime to forget.
Bye.
We didn’t touch.
That
will leave a mark.
– 0 –
About The Article Author:
Hi, I’m Rachana. Its been my dream for years to do something to consciously create a better future where every one of us is excited about our own potential. My challenge to everyone is that they aspire for their personal best and leave a legacy of their work through their contributions to mankind.
One more thing. In December of 2044, I hope to win the Nobel.
Will you join me on this journey of growth and transformation?
Namasté.
Poetry
Human life without some form of poetry is not human life but animal existence. ~ Randall Jarrell
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