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In the car in the back, to the tune of a song
I do not recall. It was something by the Doors,
But I can't remember because I was looking at her,
And she was looking out the window.

I lay my hand by my thigh, innocent-like
And lay in wait for a passive response.
It came when she lay her hand by her thigh,
But it was innocent-like and keenly covert.

We were both aware that the other was aware,
Yet we did not speak much during the ride,
At least not to each other directly.
It would not be long until we opened, though.

Sometimes, when one of use looked at the other,
The second to look would ask, "What?", and
The other would smile and say, "Nothing."
Then we would both smile and look away.

After some minutes with our fingers barely touching,
She lifted her arm for some reason or other,
But the reason slipped my mind when her hand
Fell back onto mine, back of hand to back of hand.

She would move her fingers slowly,
In a way that rubbed my hand.
I moved my fingers back and forth
Along the leather surface of the seat.

After a time I turned over my hand,
To face her's palm to palm and then
We immediately clasped hands
With our fingers intertwined.

The usual rotating thumbs were there,
And the occasional tightening of grip.
And when I lay my head back to rest it,
She did rest her head with mine.