The thought of you, a storm brewing in my chest,
a tempest of excitement, dread its undertow.
Avoiding you, a practiced art,
a choreography etched in my subconscious.

Your presence, an earthquake tremor,
heart a hummingbird trapped in my ribcage,
palms slick with a sweat born of fear.
My body, a traitor, whispering warnings
of the danger lurking in your gaze.

I flit from conversation to conversation,
a moth drawn to the pale flicker of lesser lights,
afraid to...