Mentally and physically prepared, though you don't know what to expect.
Your walk though the door and your thoughts start to collect.
Nervous for what your about to do.
A weight starts to put pressure on you.
Edrenelin kicks in and then you're fine.
Your head is in the game as all fears are put aside.

I'm not asking for too much
I'm not asking for anything at all
And suddenly mediocrity is magical and sufficient.
It's efficient to let yourself be inspired by little things
That
In reality
Are rather,
"Just fine"
And we continue the day with our heads held towards the sky
Even if it's always nighttime inside

And I sigh
I sigh because nothing excites nor impresses
Nor angers nor frustrates nor makes me react

For I expect nothing
To shield myself off
In this world of barriers
I'm lost.

Is it the hot jalapeño
that makes the sauce
undesirable?
So much so that
the lavishing onion
sweet tomato
and bold garlic
mean nothing?
Down the sink because
it is too spicy for our mellow tongues.
Sauce speaks the loudest when
it makes us uncomfortable.

To be perfectly honest this was one of the more difficult poems to string together for the sheer fear of possibly jinxing it,
as there appears to be a pattern to every story involving a boy and me lately,
which begins with the same overrated butterflies in the stomach sensation followed by a poem,
sleepless nights, cigarettes, ***** and a tragic ending.
So having reached the poem stage my instincts and the part of my brain receptive to pain are already bracing themselves,
I can feel them clenching in my gut.  
As this three nights stand situation burns the lines between a *******, friendship with benefits and something to the extent of a budding romance,
my expectations are protesting against being so fiercely oppressed,
frankly they are getting out of control,
as the dislike of not wanting to be clingy, chivalry of not wanting to subdue to any labels nor the fear of yet another heartbreak itself,
are no longer sufficient to keep these rising hopes in place.
Ironically, when I think of you I think more of who I become when I'm with you, than actually you,
even though I do sincerely adore you. Very much.
I'm bemused by how comfortable I feel in my own skin,
naked and burnished, next to your warm, ivory touch.
Each time you trail your fingers down my body and take in a quick breath as if you were seeing me for the very first time,
I treasure the look in your eyes for later in the week when the going gets tough.
I idolize your rough, blistered, bleeding palms with all its calluses for they mirror my own much subtle bruises,
representing our shared interest, commitment, strength and transformation.
Your new found superpower to completely eradicate my necessity to socially smoke when socializing with you, speaks for itself really,
and we haven't even got to the laughter, the banter, the top notch sarcasm, the conversation, the warmest embrace,
breakfast ending in a ridiculously serious spectacle of coffee making,
which I thoroughly enjoy from the best seat in the kitchen wearing your shirt which fits me far more perfectly,
and the skip in my step as I head home.
So when the day comes for the revolution, of my expectations, overthrowing this rather tiresome governance of fear,
I just might pop the question, will you be my forever one night stand? ,
in the hope that you might just say yes...

When you wish for more
More than you're given
More than you'll ever get...

When you dare to contemplate a life with more
You're definitely sure
To drown.