I can feel my heart-rate skyrocket
every time you touch my hair,
and every time you laugh at my jokes
it beats hard enough to burst.
And when you're gone you occupy my thoughts
whether I want you to or not.

Each time I feel a blush rush to my cheeks
or my hands tremble nervously,
I feel that flurry of school girl emotions
followed by a sick swooping feeling
deep in my stomach and up through my chest.
And its all I can to not to get ill.

You don't want me the way I want you
but its enough, more than enough for me,
and more than I ever thought I'd get.
I could never be mad at you.
The more I see of you the more I like,
whether I want to or not.