What Distance Should I Keep?

...
I know I should stand farther.
Not too far is acceptable.
Close is not.

I circle around like a cat.
When is my chance?
It's measured in half seconds.

I'm slow, not quick enough.
There is still time.
I watch for it.

Don't talk.
Just look.
Laugh and thank.

Not wanting to I watch for it.
Anticipating.
Measuring.

I circle, not meaning to.
She circles, wary, aware.
The others are not conscious as of yet.

Talking to another, anticipating a reaction, but it goes on behind me.
I react with eyes and ears in the back of my head,
while I have this conversation in front of my eyes.
I know where you are,
even as I turn my back.

Thank you for all this you've picked for me and stuffed into this bag.
You stuff more and more and more when I want to hug you.
I wish I grew with the carrots and the broccoli waiting for your hands to wrap around me while you praised my color and taste. I clutch your gift to endure not touching your arm.

Circling is a hard way to love someone you've loved all your life since before you knew her, but for that dreamy hope; before she even knew how you waited patiently for an introduction. Now you can't stop looking in her face; for days and years as anniversaries pass and I look in her face and I must stop. I twist away to taste the sweetest peach, a stand in, for it must be, while I wait again for a look into your face that is not ready yet, but you're busy hunting for squash not born.

...