I have half-written confessions about you
And all of them are simultaneously as weak and gauche as the struggling flight of a butterfly with half its wings ripped off.
I have no coordination when it comes to dancing, Darling, and it's probably becoming more and more prevalent as you catch me tripping around my declarations
Because I am filled with so much self-doubt, but I can't help it that this new piece of my life has me second-guessing the placement of my feet and the rhythm I'm swaying to.
And with you being so honest from the dawn of our affair, it's made me guilty for doubting anything at all.
But I can't help it that you're a natural dancer and I'm just a mess.
I felt that the strength in my emotions were something to be ashamed of and in turn I've put them on display
A lewd circus performance to weigh the mass of my words and predict the approximate level they could wriggle down beneath your skin
Because I can deal with the stern looks and careless scoffs from sporadic digital strangers,
It's just that you aren't one and that means your opinion counts most of all.
I want to dazzle you with crazy dance moves like the Charlie Brown or Jitterbug or even twerk a couple of times because I can't impress with my mastering of the Hokey Pokey and the Cha Cha Slide
But I digress;
It just seems that all I can talk about when you're not around is how swell it'd be if you were.
And making our sweet dancing anything but comprised of candlelight and champagne and red roses just insults the beautiful parts of myself I want to so desperately share with you.
I'm no poet, dude,
And I've got no graces in dance,
But I'll rearrange the constellations in the sky to help better express myself if it meant figuring out how I managed to fall in love
With you

It's all been soiled like some overused sponge stinking of mildew and the precise antithesis of the cleanliness it was meant to produce.
It took but a second for my overly-romanticized secret affair to be shoved into the bottom of the garbage disposal and minced over and over by the thunderous roar and bite in the throat of the sink, and good ******* lord I felt every grind and tear slicing up my entrails and leaving me gutted and panicked on the kitchen floor.
This is why he, and every other precious charm sparkling in the trove of my heart belong locked away in a safe and hence buried at the deepest trench that can thus even only be located by the swiftest of explorers.
I should have known you to surpass qualifications in navigating the turbulence (there be none for you, probably, anyway) and disarray that is the ever-winding contour of halls and trap-doors within the chambers of my heart.
You're too sly to just float along the surface to the tempo of my shallow praises in that scarlet inner tube and work on your tan from the UV Rays emanating from the warmth of my I am happy smiles,
No, you're unsatisfied lest you've overturned every lingering mystery and lighted the sad, empty shadows that I had humbly darkened so to preserve the pathetic weaknesses and guilty pleasures that I hide inside them.
I'm sad that you think that with that necessary darkness comes malice, because I've never had an honest evil wish for even the scaliest of serpents.
But now you know that for yourself, and you knowing is the same as five billion men and women hearing and seeing and discovering at last the very unremarkable and demeaning secrets of my heart.
I'm going to try to be okay with this, so all the while please,
if you can manage,
try to be okay with me and my "lie".

It's rather unfair of you, you know,
Evoking such profound sentiments from my flighty soul as if you can just waltz into the lion's den, chair in hand, and whip at the air in the rather unlikely hopes that the lioness in me bends.
Only that I do.
It's rather unfair of you, you know,
That you can charm your way through my barriers like you have, and tell me things that rip the rest of the world away, leaving you and I on a cloud waltzing slowly through your quiet, scientific romancing
And then pull away at a moment's notice because you're the one holding the whip, and I'm left alone in a dark cave with my thoughts reverberating back at me against the cold stone, with you likely under the presumption that I miss you.
Only that I do.
I've found too severe a necessity for the moments traded in the little world we've fashioned for each other. Your voice resonates like a song from my past, a familiar tune I've forgotten the words to, and yet I am sure that I've listened to it many times before. It melts in my veins like a sickly-sweet resin, thickens my blood into honey, and heats my cheeks with an excitement I've never known.
I don't know why it is that I must love you,
Only that I do.