where is the line drawn
between class and trash,
when the moment of spontaneity
goes too far in the midsts of the fog
at the stroke of two
when your fingers find mine
lips brush in the glow
of a nearby streetlamp
that only enhances the color
of the eyes that seek mine?

where is the line drawn
between lust and love,
that justifies the act of sex in the park
to be one of passion
instead of angst,
innocence is no longer an issue
and you find yourself free
falling
into the arms of the night
with the sweat glistening from your cheeks
as caresses are spread
and you are spent?

where is the line drawn
that separates
you from
me?

wherethewordsbegin