I woke up wanting you again.
I woke up and I wanted to feel you
In any and every way possible.

I woke up wanting to touch you.
Your skin; your hair; your soul.

I woke up wanting your arms around me.
A straight jacket confining and keeping me all to yourself.  
Keeping me away from the harm I could do if free.

Enter yesterday:
"Don't *touch me," I snap.
I'm doing it again.  I'm pushing you away. Totally cognizant, too.
"Oh, okay," your sadness is evident throughout your sagging frame; your visage.
Your hands slide from my rib cage, down my curves, to my hips (just touching a square inch of exposed skin) where, after lingering momentarily as if to say "I still want you", they go straight into your pockets. Their home. Another safe haven. One not on my body.
I pretend to be aloof to your obvious hurt, when all I really want is more than hands on hips can satisfy.

*So this is my reaction to love I don't believe I deserve.
This is my reaction to fear. Fear of so much attraction and attachment all in one titanic burst of feeling.
So much of every possible positive feeling--and I feel it towards you.
So confusing and so overtaking, my only practical thought is that I must get away from it.
Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll get away from it.