No Measurements

I want to kiss you very badly.

So badly, that often when we talk, alone in our cars, I have to restrain myself.

I have to pinch my thigh

Or flick my wrist

Anything to snap myself out of it.

But here’s how I imagine it would go.

I would abruptly lean in and our teeth would click, or I would interrupt you midsentence to say “I would like very much to kiss you.”

You’d laugh at both.

I am very reckless when my heart is involved but I’ve worked very hard to be better-thoughtful-calculated.

Measuring my moves very carefully as if I’m baking a cake because when baking, you have to be meticulous- measuring every tablespoon- counting every salt granule in a “sprinkle”.

But oh my God, I want to cook with you. I want to sautée and add paprika and olive oil and cayenne pepper and measure nothing and just enjoy the scents- the taste.

I want to kiss you and let I linger. I want to bite your bottom lip and swallow you.

I’m starting to err on the side of “fuck it”, because part of me wants to set the world on fire and touching you might just do that.

I held your hand once and that electrocuted me for weeks. It still does.

I’m starting to get reckless again. I’m starting to boil.

 

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