What If?

The scents of a summer garden carried on a gentle breeze. I stand at the open window intoxicated desiring life and you.

You the unattainable, reclining carelessly, your soft brown skin an instrument of torture. To look but not to touch, perpetually suspended in the state of friendship. What if I should express what lies within? What then?The death of friendship, the crushing of my dreams or, just possibly something else. Perhaps it is Better to live in suspended animation the words forever just on the tip of my tongue. Where I to speak my words like bombs would explode shattering forever this world of dreams.