Unfortunately, I suffer
From a perpetual desire to lean
Towards you when you're most unaware
And silence your lips with my own.

I'm afraid I selfishly cover you in kisses,
In an action of petty mortality.
As a fool with a view of the stage.

And yet what's worse, I fear you are
Entirely to blame.
You see had you not been so perfectly flawed
I could have resisted.
And lived a life so blissfully mundane,
That I might remember
Not to drink on Sundays
Not to laugh too loud
Or stare too delightedly.

But the world is not kind in that way.