We were both shy, but him more so.
In the movies we would sit side by side,
His arm glued to the armrest and unmoving.
I wanted to reach for his hand
But my palms were hot and sweaty with nervous feelings
I thought, if only he'd reach for me;
If he wanted to, he could put his arm around me.
But his arm just sat there, still.
I wasn't watching the movie;
My mind was too busy thinking about touching his hand.
Time had passed, and my hands were less hot and sweaty now
Because I had been airing them out beneath the seat.
Maybe I should-
I went for it, impulsively touching his hand
And sending a flirtatious smile his way.
It was dark in the theater, but I could tell that
He was blushing.
And for the last ten minutes of the movie our hands intertwined,
Sweaty and sticky
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