Tired of Waiting

Didn't I see you standing at the back of the line, alone?
You were afraid.
Didn't you look away when I tried to see your eyes?
I was afraid, too. I still am.
If I came to you, if I came to conquer you,
Would you let me?
Would you stand still, or would you urge me on?
Would you resist, or would you conquer me instead?
Would I be your tool? Would you be mine? Would it matter?
Are we supposed to know what love is?
I see your arms, there to take me in, to hold me.
I see your mouth, your lips, to kiss, to sing, to shout, to smile.
I see your flesh, your blood, your heart beating with heat and life.
Does it matter if I can't so clearly see your soul?
Can you see mine?
This is an awfully long line. I don't think either one of us wants to
I don't know if either one of us can.