You had better stop
Sticking your face so close to mine

I start to think about things I shouldn’t

Then my intentions turn transparent
When I flicker my gaze from your eyes to your lips
And I’m just (un)lucky you didn’t see
(Sometimes I wish it were all on the table.)

And we’re not so formulaic
That I could call you my Achilles heel,
But you exercise some sort of
Golden-boy Midas-touch
That turns me into shivering vulnerability.

I want to think clearly
But my heart is beating too hard
For me to focus on
What would happen if I…
(Let’s leave that to the imagination.)

So I brush my nose across your cheek
And my mouth across your ear
(It's the closest we'll ever get to kissing)
As I whisper back
‘Don’t you dare call me yours unless you mean it,
Because I can’t help but start to believe it.’

This wishful thinking,
It borders on worthless.