I Started To Fall For You At The Same Speed She Almost Jumped From
Or,
Couldn't You Have Said Something Sooner?
Or,
The Story of An Almost

Midnight exhales, meet 1 am clavicles.
2 am blushing, meet 3 am commands.
4 am cautiousness, meet 5 am lust.
6 am, meet the one you love.
I felt comfortable with you;
There was instant trust.
I wanted your creased cheeks and bleary eyes at every hour of the late night.
I would dream about my fingertips tracing your sides in the early morning light.
I've been missing the way I could only see half of your face once the drowsiness set in, the way you lifted your chin and smiled at me.
Your eyelids never crinkled evenly.
The first night we talked, you called me cute and told me that if I wasn't going to say the flirty things, you would.
You made me nervous. People don't make me nervous.
I don't get butterflies. I don't get pink cheeks. I get sickly moths and bats flapping around inside me. I go pale from head to toe.
You brought back raw emotion like sugar. It was too much all at once; it made both of us a little sick. Neither of us were used to it.
Your mind decided to change tracks and left me behind at the station. I've still been sitting at the help desk waiting for your return.
You're not the type I go for. You're much too cautious and gentle, generic and accessible.
That's gotta mean something. I usually go for the girls who stain their cigarettes with Ruby Woo or Sin lipstick; into none of those categories do you fit. I go for girls who live halfway across the world and would rather swim in tar than fall for me again. I chase after those who'd never want me. I do it so no one gets hurt. I once burned a girl so badly she wished she could fall from red steel at 70 miles per hour just to hit the water to escape my flames.
You're nothing like anyone I've ever loved. Why is it you had to pull me in so close, thaw me so much?
My soul is of the winter; if I'm not a raging fire, I freeze at anyone's touch.
I just wish you would've realized you made me feel so much, thaw so much, ache so much.
I wish you would've realized that no matter how much you hated poetry, the honey words still spilled from your lips.
You were one of my favorite poets.
From hipbones to little sighs, stinging skin and inner thighs; you told me stories of moonlight on shoulder blades and the dream morning of a nymphomaniac.
Maybe it was a dangerous mix of lust and a little too much trust, but I miss the way you made me feel a little loved