I’m beginning to hate my body
for its weakness
and what it does to me
when you’re around.

My feet,
they dance only to your beat.
My elbows fumble and bump,
awkward and embarrassing
when they sense your presence.
My irises follow you
satellites circling the gravity
of your hotness.
It’s like I can’t see anything
outside of twelve inches
away from your frame.

I am ashamed
how addicted my chemistry has become
to your biology.
I am dependent on your reactions
for on-going health
and
I wish it were not so.

I loathe what I have become
because of you
and would tell you so
if my lips and tongue and teeth
could only do what I want of them
instead of seeking only
to serve you.