Baby, I'd Wear You Like A Gun On My Hip

I want you.

I love you.

I need you.

But I'm oh-so scared.

Your inoccuousness causes

me immense confusion.

You seem so placid and gentle lying next to me

and yet my heart won't stop trying to beat its way out of my chest.

Someone should tell it you're not a threat.

How can I express these things

in the eloquent way that you deserve love confessed

when looking in your eyes sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach?

I want so badly to profess,

but it takes every ounce of my concentration to steady my shaking self when you touch me.

And once I settle myself, what words are there to describe the strange things

you do to me?

They say that true love is in the showing and not telling,

but I couldn't possibly

reciprocate these feelings in you,

try as I might.

Wasting time with you was never more enjoyable.

Watching TV, driving

what does it matter when I'm in your company?

Just being close to you

feeling those awkward, but subtle changes in atmosphere that I know you're feeling too

is what I need.

I want all of you,

and even then

I doubt my appetite will be satiated.

I want to drag my fingers lazily over your bare skin,

wake up next to you,

make you feel as close to what you're making me feel as possible.

So here I am

exposed and vulnerable

for you.