Baby, I'd Wear You Like A Gun On My Hip

I want you.
I love you.
I need you.
But I'm oh-so scared.
Your inoccuousness causes
me immense confusion.

You seem so placid and gentle lying next to me
and yet my heart won't stop trying to beat its way out of my chest.
Someone should tell it you're not a threat.
How can I express these things
in the eloquent way that you deserve love confessed
when looking in your eyes sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach?

I want so badly to profess,
but it takes every ounce of my concentration to steady my shaking self when you touch me.
And once I settle myself, what words are there to describe the strange things
you do to me?

They say that true love is in the showing and not telling,
but I couldn't possibly
reciprocate these feelings in you,
try as I might.

Wasting time with you was never more enjoyable.
Watching TV, driving
what does it matter when I'm in your company?
Just being close to you
feeling those awkward, but subtle changes in atmosphere that I know you're feeling too
is what I need.

I want all of you,
and even then
I doubt my appetite will be satiated.
I want to drag my fingers lazily over your bare skin,
wake up next to you,
make you feel as close to what you're making me feel as possible.

So here I am
exposed and vulnerable
for you.