Playing with a Ball of Yarn

We sat in the kitchen
waiting for the next move.
You ate your french vanilla with a spoon
musing over me.
One thought played over in my mind--
You knew.
I nervously bit my lip,
you just smirked and continued spooning
toying with the idea in your head.

We moved like kittens
playful/aggressive, passive/bored.
You were the latter.

You knew what I wanted.
You faltered only once,
leading me to the couch
but promptly corrected the mistake--
the television began to drone.

Our game wouldn't stop itself
and you didn't feel like toying anymore.
I still wanted you,
you wanted time--
letting it happen wasn't the same as wanting it
so lips brushed forehead
shoes found their owners
a car sought the interstate.