In Which She Was A Dork

It starts with a kiss.
Holy fuck, it's a doozy of a kiss
and I can't stop thinking about it.

When I finally touch you,
it feels like the first drop on a roller coaster
I'm frightened and my whole head is tingling
and I can't breathe
and I hate roller coasters, but I like this.

The way cold iron streaks down my back
and the fire rushes to my belly and
I can feel all the hairs on my neck stand up.
It's a desperate wanting feeling and I lose myself
in every second of it.
I can't decide if I like it or love it
or if it makes me sick.

I have never been in a room that felt so safe
or so on fire. I don't want to leave, every part of
me is burning.

It doesn't really start there.
It starts when I step into the room and
immediately want to take of my shoes.
I show my soft underbelly and my claws and
from a distance I watch myself resisting
the urge to curl myself around you like a cat,
social niceties be damned.
Watch the ice queen melt.
(Please don't hurt me)
(Please)

I could listen to you talk all day.
And I do.
And I wait and watch from across the room because I'm not sure
how close I'm allowed to be
how close I should be.

The thing I'll never say:
How the sound of you laughing
and looking surprised by your own laughter
made my stomach free fall.