Breathless, restless, spell sick.
Starved for touch - anorexic.
Damned, drowning consumer
of every whiff of rumor.
Are you, will you, would you?
What would I do should you
uncover my unseemly wanting
and put flesh to this whore boned haunting?
I hide my clinging in plain sight
crushed in the crowd at your side
just to brush against the burn of your sun -
symptoms of a secret love.
For Shay's prompt at Real Toads