But How Can I

I can stop myself
from turning when I
hear his name.
I am quenching my

lust, minute
by minute, slowly.
There is no
"him and me."

I can stop myself
from looking at
him as he walks by.
As long as I stop that,

I can,
hopefully,
stop thinking about
"him and me."

I can stop imagining
him, clothed or bare,
because he is NOT there;
it is simply air.

Yet when I look again,
he waves, then disappears,
confirming my
overwhelming fears.

I can stop watching
him, stop showing
off for him.
I cry, knowing

he isn't worth it;
this saves us all,
or so I think--
only I have to take the fall.

But how can I--
how can I--
expect myself to listen
to me? Dry

my tears
and ask
again.
A mask,

mine,
keeps
slipping.
Skeep

evades
me.
But how can I
stop him? He

sets my
heart aflame.
To him, it's
a game.

He makes my
heart pound
if I hear his name
or see him around.

He makes my
hands sweat.
It's like him and I
have a personal bet:

"You know you
want me."
"I do not,"
I reply falsely.

He and
I
know it's
a lie.

We both know
my need,
yet I refuse
to heed.

I'll give in,
eventually,
I guess, and
I know he

knows. But how can I
balance on this rim
and not fall in?
I love him.