Jesse

You're windy and proper, and messy and neat.  You've got a quiet smirk, but your face is so damn loud.  You tower over me, but I've got you beat with words.  I'd much rather hear yours though.
You're better at watching than I am, but I like when you're watching me.
Just go ahead and stare into the distance, I'll memorize your profile.  You can cross your legs, and I'll fold mine.
My toes will brush against you, you'll notice but won't move.  The slit of my skirt gets higher and higher, but you keep your eyes on my face.  I'm not drunk anymore, I probably never was, but I didn't want to take you home.  Blessings come with courthouse benches.  There's not enough justice in the world, I feel at peace at your side.
You make sure I'm not taken by some other guy, in a coy way.  No, there isn't a man in the trashcan facing us.  I laugh because there no way I'd be with you if that was the case.  The temptation is real.
I can talk about nothing forever, random thoughts are never scarce.  I'll reposition; so when you look at me you'll see me wholly.  My feet rest in your lap, how nice, for me at least.  Not sure why my shoes are ten feet away, but I'm sure you'll fetch them.  I'll turn my head real quick, you'll catch me off guard.  You're suddenly so much closer, full tilt I catch up.  No objections from me, you could kiss me till the sun came up and then even after that.  I make sure my hands wrap around you so you can't escape me.  You slow me down and kiss me gently with your hand on my chin, I feel small but I like it. It's not a game, but you win.  Your hands on my thighs,  I wish they were covering my skin.  It's chilly outside but you're making me hot.  I want to crawl on top of you, then I remember I'm modest, shit.  You kiss my neck, I can feel my veins pulsing, and adrenaline flooding.  I hope I am okay at kissing you, I feel like attractive people should be rewarded somehow.  People with good music taste should also be rewarded, and people who are adorable dancers should also be compensated for their efforts; I hope I succeed in this.  Keep kissing me, and we'll be on the same page.  I'll pull away to tease you, to see how far you'll come.  Each time I see you smile, my heart is warm.  Good things don't last forever.  I know you're leaving tomorrow, I know you live 15 hours away, but right now I feel on fire.
How long have we been there? I'm not keeping track. All the beer inside me is calling.  I'll leave your side for squatting purposes, check the cleavage, and toss the hair.  I'll come up from behind you, barefeet, skirt in hand.  Staring at your silhouette, damn, speechless.  I'll probably paint that sight one day.
Then we are on the steps, getting closer to the car, getting closer to sunrise, the birds are reminding us of the time.  You ask me if I am cold, you have little idea of how I'm incredibly warm I am in your presence.  We make our way to the car, I'm not ready to take you home yet.
It doesn't matter who starts the kissing this time, you already broke the bridge.  I'm smaller than you again, you tower over me.  Again, I like it.  I leverage my way on the ledge so our mouths are at similar heights.  I feel less small.  I push against my car, we're equal.  Our bodies are very close at this point, my hand runs down your chest.  I feel the buttons one at a time, I wonder what it would be like to unbutton them.  I remember I'm modest, and slow myself down, shit.  I held on to your every word before, now I'm holding on to your every move.
I like looking over at you as I drive.  You've entered my world, my car, my city, my music.  I wonder what it'd be like to be in your world.  What'd I'd give to be there you'll never know.  I imagine it briefly, it looks nice in your world.  Damn it, we're home.
The sun is on the rise.  We approach my apartment.  I hold the keys, so I open the door.  I can't do that yet, I don't want to take you home, give you up to the couch.  I turn, this is the last time to kiss you.  I've been so spoiled tonight.  You kiss me so well.  We have one more kissing spell.  Your hands resting at my waist, I try to take it all in, and feel it all.  The worst part of the night is ending there, on my doorstep.  You're worth every second.
Things change when inside, your dad on the couch, sister on the mattress, we take turns in the bathroom, I wash off the makeup on my face, and brush away your taste.  I take off my appealing clothes.  I look more like myself, I stare at myself in the mirror, I wonder what happens next.  I use your phone as a flashlight to salvage pillows and blankets and a sleeping bag from my room.  I debate, putting my number in your phone under a cheesy name like "hottest girl you've ever kissed", "the best dancer ever in the universe", I decide to leave the ball in your court.  I like sport metaphors.
I'm back in your presence.  I see you in the kitchen, you're so tall and handsome.  You like a model, its annoying, but I got to spend all night with you.  I try to feel honored somehow, I know I can't have you.  You try to take the floor, but I insist.  In an ideal world we both take the floor, but then I remember I am modest, shit.
You move your pillow so you can face me, I like looking at your face.  That same quiet smirk.  You have the blanket up to your chin.  You're are so adorable, I'm thinking about being under the covers with you, I turn to the left, to slow my imagination.  Bam, Mr. Rogers kills the mood. That's a lie, I'd make out with you in a heart beat.  But lets pretend, Mr. Rogers could kill our mood.  You're watching me again, I keep your attention with American Sign Language.  I start signing words like sleep and good night. Then, I tell you are handsome.  If I knew the signs for something like sexy, adorable, irresistible I'd use those too.
We are both tired.  I can see it in your eyes, why are we human? Why is sleep important?  I settle for reality.  I force myself to settle down.  I feel a little too high for the floor.  I watch Mr. Rogers until I dose off.  I usually look forward to dreaming, but in nights like these, I'd rather relive the night.

I am small

I cried on the way home from you. I'm empty, yet tears still are held in when I am with you. I step away and I begin to empty again.  There is so much more for me to discover about you.  But the wall between us is so high.  And I can't feel your affection through it, and I can't see how you feel about me.
It's at night that I think.  I look objectively at the day, and try to see life for what it really is, not just how I feel about it.  You hardly talked to me today.  I don't know how, but your life seems to wear you out.  I wonder if you want to know about me, how I am, or if you care about how fucked up my mind is.  I think, maybe tomorrow he will try to be with me, maybe make a special plan, or ask me about my childhood.  He doesn't.  I envision conversations in my head of me telling him these things.  I don't speak for fear of not being cared about. Then the tears.
I look at your silhouette. I want to touch you and feel your warmth, to rub my fingers over your thin frame.  I smile at your presence, blushing as I think of me staring at you.  You feel blank and cool towards me, fleeting from my touch.  I'd very much like to fall in love one day.  Whether it is with you I don't know; but if this is how love starts, I am very confused.
I need to tell you all these things.  But I am afraid I don't mean enough to you.  When I tell you these things you will surely leave me.  I don't know if I am ready for that.  But you aren't really here anyways, you won't see the aftermath because you don't see the mess thats right in front of you.
I've been convincing myself that my thoughts and insecurities are foolish.  I've rethought this, and I find that I am very much justified in my sadness over us. You'll say that you will call, you don't, you say you want to see me, you don't.  You don't come to me, I come to you with or without an invitation.
I wish I could be as close to you as your sadness or your exhaustion.  I don't think I will replace those things, or fit in between them.  I am small, but they are just too big.