you taste almost as good as you smell, a smell that makes me weak at the knees.  when i talk about you i feel like some semi poetic little girl… but i can’t help the way your ripped jeans and tight v-necks make me wish i was that fourteen year old and that we were pushed up against some back wall of a show with dim lights and loud music, drowning out every possible word that came to my mind, the only thing i could focus on would be your mouth and how much i wanted to feel it on my neck.

i didnt know you then from a stranger, i know you now like the back of my hand, the best part, you dont realize that yet.  but for as much as you claim to have your walls up, ive already figured you out, down to the smallest details.  your hazel eyes with their shades of green.  your soft lips and strong jaw.  your tattooed arms and pale skin beneath them.  how you try not to smile but it shows anyway.

i told you not to fall in love with me, i feel bad now that you have.

sometimes i wish i was a little less.