I'm sure I could write letters and novels on your appeal,
Your beauty and your charisma.
I'm sure I could cover pages upon pages about how you look across a room, and how catching my gaze sometimes makes me lose my train of thought.
It's like a train running off the tracks, steam and engine and rotations over how something so dangerous could be so thrilling.
I could trace you with chalk on the sidewalk and outline all the reasons why I think my outline could fit like a puzzle piece next to yours.
I know I could dive deep into your dammed heart, find the cracks and leaks and patch them up best I can.
I know I could write pages and tell you, yet nothing my lips could say could match the way they'd feel against yours,
And I'm sure that the only way I could keep quiet about you is if you're the one closing my lips against yours.