That I am granted to feel this tremble
which shakes my knees weak,
what calls every fiber to attention,
and pains like catching the icy chill of a winter wind;

That I should meet your gaze
by intrigue or simple fortune,
I warm with your eyes fixed upon me,
wrapping like the embrace of a dry blanket when escaping the rain.

That I must succumb to fantasy
of our destined and entwined romanticism,
I waver as such a machination is exposed,
shattering this dream like an old bulb after its final and dying light.

That I come to realize my intent
would have me trick you into what I call 'love',
I collapse under the weight of shameful ambition,
and see there is nothing quite like this selfish thing I have done.