Stop

"Stop,"
I tell myself.
"Stop before you get hurt."
But I don't.
I don't want to stop.
I'm already hooked
on the way you smell,
on your immature jokes,
on your touch.
"Stop."
But my body fits
perfectly
nestled against yours,
and my mind meets your thoughts
halfway.
"Stop before you regret this."
But you know exactly
where to place your hands,
what to whisper in my ear,
how to play rough when the lights go out.
"Stop."
But I can't.
The way your body twitches
when you dream
just feels too right.
"Stop before you ruin it."
But you catch me off-guard
with your honesty
and self-disclosure.
"Stop."
But how could I stop now?
When this is all I've wanted?
All along?