When I feel his hands on me but know it'll never happen; nothing meaningful. I give him thoughts throughout the day but never feel flustered over it, never confused or truly falling yet comfortably swooning. His body against mine, in a hug, in a bed, on the floor, on a long ride; just a "friendly" embrace on both parts, never meant to be anything more; because we both know it never will be. A mutual denial of a comfortable swooning. Hands between my legs, on my waist, on my ass, in my own; his head on my chest, his hands in my shirt, under my blanket, our legs tangled together, still only a "friendly" gesture, neither say of it, neither care; a mutual denial of comfortable swooning. For in a seconds notice either could have been swept up with a new caller, not a fuck would have been given on either part. On a fragile line between taken and occupied, sets a nice term a few words away from something more than "just friends," we set comfortably swooning.