It’s hard
to walk with you.
I keep turning
to stare
and fall all over my big dumb feet.
My pants tent out
and I end up taking little hop-steps
to keep up.
The boner I wear
isn’t mine.

It exists solely for you.

It’s hard to talk with you.
My tongue swells
and lips blister near your heat.
I cannot keep a cool head
and douse myself in frosty drinks
to wash away the nervous sweats
you make me produce.

It’s hard to argue with you
when your speedy and sharp tongue

cuts me up
inadvertently
thoughtlessly demolishing my best-case scenarios.
I feel like a whetting stone sometimes.

It’s hard to be with you
clearly
but still
you have a way
of drawing out a tenderness
no other will feel.