I won't pretend to understand attraction, the way its tendrils fill a body like electricity, how eye contact can feel a little too much like standing way too close to the edge of a cliff. I know there is a scientific explanation for this (rooted in my DNA trying to propagate itself beyond my limited lifespan) that explains why it's so hard to shift my thoughts from you today. But the caution tape and habitual cynicism only does so much: I feel the spark.

Last night I dreamed we live together, in an apartment with a guest room open to a mezzanine below. The bed there balanced over this precipice, perched precariously on slats that were spaced too far apart from each other. We slept there. Not having rolled into the abyss in the night was our gift each morning. It was dangerous and exhilarating. We held each other so tightly.

I can't wait to take you home, to bed away from the bar awkward and street whistles. I want to languish in those pauses between our kisses where we feel each other's breath. I want our hands to touch, put my sound in your ears, strip off the stupid clothes. And we'll go from there.

I'm walking around with a stupid smile on my face and secret fear in my chest, wondering how to contain this bubbling fizzing chemistry happening within me before it hurts me too much.

I don't care; I'll let myself care and see what happens. Let's see what catches and what burns this time.