You wanted me to kiss you, oh god, right there on that inflatable mattress at that party at that house that one night, when we were young and dumb and your girlfriend was in the other room, trying hard to prove she could drink like the college kids even though she was only sixteen, but I was thinking damn it I didn't come here to fuck or fall in love, and baby you're a walking, talking poem, one I've been writing since I learned how to hold a pen, but your secrets don't belong in my head and since my lips are made of lead a thousand words were left unsaid all of which imply that manic depressives and binge drinking bulimics should probably never make out or make love or anything in-between.
i wanted it too but i was shy i'm sorry
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