The place where you were lying on me burns,
A pleasant sort of pain, one that recalls
The way the heartbeat skips, the stomach churns,
And every other sense suddenly falls
Silent, except for touch, when you are there.
I am a creature wholly made to hold
Your head upon my shoulder, and to stare
Down dumbly at it, frightened to be bold
Enough to keep you there. I can't conceive
Of any better moment - yet it ends,
Always too soon, and as you start to leave,
My senses rush back in. That instant lends
A little thrill to when you must depart -
Yet even as I thrill, it breaks my heart.
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