They both crave something: he, what’s between her thighs; she, her reflection in his eyes. Though the black box of each other’s intentions suggests the odds of these wishes being granted are uncertain, even the slightest sliver of hope delays the giving up of this timeless pursual, so — they go for it.
Skin guarded and praying he’ll be content with the equal and opposite gravity of their modest proximity, she has plans to deny touch until further plans are laid. Her eyes however are windows swung so wide open as if desperately taking in the air of her last spring.
Meanwhile, in a heightened state and at an enforced distance, he fixates on her, imagining an eventual collision of their orbiting bodies. Undeniably his eyes do meet hers, and in those moments she feels delighted, acknowledged — surely the sole occupant of his thoughts.
She is the sun beaming down on his earth, but for now burns too hot to get any closer. In time, either the heat will abate enough for her to receive his touch, or he will turn his back on this intervening distance and reach for the cool closeness of the moon.