How can I sit here and pretend to read,
When all I can think about is kissing you?
Butterflies dance in approval of my fantasy,
While brows are furrowed further,
At the thought of trusting you,
I'm sorry, but that I can't do.
Our hands intertwined, no distance between our bodies,
Your breath on my neck,
I can feel your desire.
You are conflicted, as much as I am,
How can I feel this way when I spend most of my time angry at you?
Why do I feel as though you're a different ending from the others?
I smile as I play games with you, I watch you squirm,
But if only you knew of the frown that lives inside.
Infatuation or fondness, that I do not know,
We don't have much time,
I fear for what is to come,
At the thought of falling for you,
I'm sorry, but that I can't do.
