All I want to do is sit and write anything like before
cheesy romance ******* about how your touch makes me feel
or the way your eyes change from hazel to green
depending on how the sunlight hits it
but
nothings coming out
nothings making sense
everything you've done to me is too good for my words
too good for their ears
even though every ******* moment is engraved into my eyes
and replayed every second I catch my breath
or loose the butterflies.

Two hours I've sat perched on my bench,
my family waiting to drown out the inevitable
click clack of my typewriter
because with a smile like mine they know the writing never stops
but this time it never comes
you just have to experience it for yourself.

come sit in the booth with us at the bar
watch us nod and bob and weave to each others voices
or one anothers favourite songs played on cheap guitars
by singers that are sub par.
Experience whatever we should call this,
an amazing friendship with the added bonus of benefits
the beginning stages of what I hope isn't love but dare I deny it
the one person who might end up destroying me
but for now he's just the reason for my torturous
writers block.