The door opens
and you’re there
and I’m tongue-tied
and probably drained
of all color so it’s not
like you’d ever find me
attractive in any case
and I’m pretty sure
the light bounced off
a ring on that particular
finger anyway so its
harmless right
(tell me its harmless)
to go weak in the knees
every time that door opens
and you lift your head up
from staring into the depths
of the cup of coffee you seem
to carry with you everywhere
(tell me its harmless).
I’ve been informed that I shouldn’t worry, as I’m somebody’s dreamboat.


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