I touch Your Hand

You touch my hand and look at me.
There is a message in your eyes
Which makes me fidget nervously
Although it does not much surprise.

If I had any sense I'd flee,
Make some excuses, tell you lies,
Suggest that I could never be
Party to such an enterprise,

Say that I have a chap to see
Or might well linger otherwise,
Offer the more pathetic plea
That my poor health disqualifies...

I look at you. I feel your touch.
My conscience pricks but not too much.