Im straddling you
and tearing up inside.
My kisses are solemn
and shaking.
I tell you I'm nervous
It's been awhile.
You moan with delight
as my jeans grind
against yours.
I'm doubting the
authenticity of this
exercise but you seem to
like it so I continue.

My eyes water
like someone chopping onions
yours are closed
rolled back into
their sockets.
I tense,
waiting for you to notice
salty tears
streaming down
my face
but nothing is said
and we just continue.

I come up with a couple
explanations for my back pocket
where you hand currently
grasps the fleshy part of my ***.
See,
I'm sensitive.
I'm about to get my period.
I get emotional sometimes.

All partially true
but
the truth is is that.
I feel bad.
Not bad, but bad.
guarded.
closing my mouth while kissing you.
stoically replying to I miss you.
It probably seems like
I'm damaged in some kind of way.
And I probably am,
But I don't think that's why
I'm acting so shy and strange.

I think I already
gave my heart away.
The receiver
just doesn't know it yet.
See with him,
I feel shy, but never strange.
My protective instincts
melt away --
I guess he makes me feel safe.
I don't know why you don't.
But I find myself
shutting you out
so I can let him in,
one day.
Maybe it's the sound
of his voice,
or the thoughtful pauses
between enigmatic takes.
breaking through the
static I've dreamt
of changing it's frequency.
Your own is loud,
booming. Not so fluctuating.
I didn't hear it before we met.
I didn't have the opportunity
to imagine
the head neck and throat
it was attached to.
You were just there,
all 6'3" 200 plus pounds of you.

You treat me nice,
pay for my meals,
make me laugh...
Yet when
you lean in
I turn into
the turtle version
of myself
naturally
pulling away.
Maybe I'm afraid.
It's stupid but I
feel like saving
my body and feelings
for him
despite many
touching them before.
I want to be available
when he's ready,
even if ready
takes a long time.
I don't want to
let myself be content,
and forget about him.

He would notice I
was crying right now
and ask what was wrong.
He notices everything.
Sometimes it's annoying
when he asks if I'm ok 50 times
but I can't help but love it.
I don't even want you to ask.
See I'm uncomfortable
being open
when I'm half-committed,
in body,
but not in spirit.