He is like fireworks on a non-holiday;
spontaneous, iridescent, thrilling.
Familiar yet out of place.

He holds me gently. I don't feel the need to be
strong.
I feel comfortable in being
delicate.
He runs his fingers across my skin.
I am a lace pattern he is entranced by.

A beautiful stone building covered in ivy, he
holds his coarse facade in his tangled fingertips when they clench my back a little too tightly.
I fall victim to his force of nature.

He will try his hardest to open my legs, but
he will really be opening my eyes,
and reality burns by corneas.

"I don't want to fall in love with you",
his voice trembles through that soft half-smile of
frustration. Stones crumble while my left brain screams,
"aren't I good enough alone?"

His heat and my breeze: We make thunder.

"I should go home", but I want to stay and let him hold my mind captive.

If that's not what he wants, I wonder why he kisses me goodnight.