The fuss

You're so adorable I just don't know how it gets any cuter. Your shy gazes and the way you speak to me. Looking at me through the stacks, hearing you mumble out the symbols threading through your mind. I want to know if the curtains match the carpet, I want to know just how Mormon you are. Where's your VCR; let's watch home movies and kiss on the couch like white hot teens. Corner me in downstairs and get close, closer, closest. "What are you drinking?" I'm such a dork to ask that. I feel like no one likes me that much there but I feel like you do. I feel like you could come to my door later afterwards and I would answer in my underwear and leggwarmers and radiohead or something is playing. Maybe we'd stand there for a minute, maybe you would just hug me, hold me. Maybe you would take your coat off and it would land on the floor. I would probably touch your chest, pressing both hands on you to assure your realness. I feel like you are so shy you wouldn't do anything, just stand there and allow me to explore you. It's almost too much for me to take.