I always tell myself
to not move too fast
and take it slow

(i don't want to ruin us)

but the promise
is lost
in the brush of your lips
and the grinding of our hips

&
each time we lie
our legs a tangled mess
and our hands
pulling at our clothes
it seems like we're moving too fast
but if we start to stop
we can't stand to go so slow

(i can't stop myself once I start)

Your hand slips under my shirt
and my fingers thread through your hair
Everything's so perfect

(when you whisper those three words)