Some lines should not be crossed.
But they can be treaded, lightly.
Then taut, and tense, and terse,
Sometimes, can become blurred.
Once indubitable;
Now, held more blithely.
A line in the sand may shift with the tide.
Those toeing it will notice first.
Flitting eyes, fleeting times;
Even the air holds its breath.
Sinking into a granular minefield,
Awaiting an intense inburst.
Pressed together, lips form a line too.
Reining reactions, concealing cogitations.
Playful, pointed, piercing,
Words and looks and touches.
Bitten within, sometimes faltering.
Evermore under observation.
A thin line lives between foresight and folly.
It holds much to read between.
The safety within, the spur of beyond.
What exists out there, what remains to be found?
Who holds the line, who steps over?
Once the line is drawn can it be unseen?
