It
It starts in my fingertips, that sensation of touch.
You make my skin crawl with pleasure.
A tingle, a shake.
It gives me a headache, from smiling just so much.
You make my head swim with lack of composure.
A voice, a laugh.
It makes my heart skip a beat.
You make it thrum with anticipation.
A thought, the thought of you, your joy, your heart.
It gives me little else room.
You give me less to think about.
And--
I can't stop thinking about you.
It's so much more than just my curling toes, my satisfied tone.
You make something in me sing.
Not just my voice.
What cannot be expressed, what refuses to be understated.
Underestimated. Underrated.
It's simple--
Yet so hard to control.
It starts in my fingertips, that sensation of touch.
You make my skin crawl with pleasure.
A tingle, a shake.
It gives me a headache, from smiling just so much.
You make my head swim with lack of composure.
A voice, a laugh.
It makes my heart skip a beat.
You make it thrum with anticipation.
A thought, the thought of you, your joy, your heart.
It gives me little else room.
You give me less to think about.
And--
I can't stop thinking about you.
It's so much more than just my curling toes, my satisfied tone.
You make something in me sing.
Not just my voice.
What cannot be expressed, what refuses to be understated.
Underestimated. Underrated.
It's simple--
Yet so hard to control.
