One breath I have taken far too deeply
from the shirt I'd worn in your arms wrapped around me.
It's nothing short of comforting
like the sound of your voice in the car when you sing.
Your tight grip I wished would never release.
Current heart conditions fail to cease.
So beautiful in any conceivable way.
Why can't all days just be Sundays?
Only thoughts of dancing and carrying on
until our eyes almost catch the faint hues of dawn.
Experience says that timing means so much.
Knowing is impossible without nearly enough.
Should I display and express things I feel
or makeout like a bandit and attempt at a steal
of a single kiss from your freckled lips
from which spoken word seemed like movie scripts.
Famlilarize me again with your arms and chest.
Maybe fait will pull me closer to whatever's for the best.