Why when I feel pretty and confident

do I want you to see me,

in the hopes you'd be awed?

Not always, but enough to be odd.

I have a boyfriend after all,

shouldn't his awe be what I seek?

 

Why when I think about you

do I have an ache in my chest,

a yearning to be with you, to talk and laugh?

Sometimes it is only with fondness of past memories that I think of you,

but I never miss him the way I do you.

 

Why when I see your picture

do I feel your gaze penetrate my soul

and set free the butterflies in my stomach?

Even when you look away, I still feel as though you are my own source of joy;

his picture does not affect me so.

 

Why when I'm with you

is it so hard not to touch you,

to hold your hand, to just be near you?

I can hardly control it when we are together;

with him it is a fleeting urge, controlled almost always.

 

Why when you touch me

does my skin crawl,

rise up in goosebumps, leave me wishing for more?

He can do this to me, for sure,

but yours are the only other hands that do this to me.

 

Why when I see your chiseled arms,

your broad shoulders, your massive hands,

do I feel a stirring of desire?

Why do I want to discover

the taste of your skin, your mouth,

the feeling of you overcoming and claiming me?

He can rouse these feelings too,

and him I have discovered.

I feel so wrong for wanting you as well.

 

Why am I comforted by your cologne?

Why does it make me want to come ever closer,

steal your shirt to smell it later?

Then part of me wants to know

what you smell like without it,

freshly sweaty from some slight exercise that I might give you.

His smell I know and love,

and can easily ignite my desire.

Would yours do the same?