Not quite Keats

An ode to a Grecian urn?
No.
An ode to this wait,
Here, now.

This anticipation of
Eyeballing your lips,
Waiting for the first kiss.

It will only come once.

Still I cross my toes
That it will come soon.

There’s a balance to be maintained,
Between comfort
And taking you for granted.

I always want to remember how I feel now.

A tinge of fear,
A pinch of excitement,
And a quixotic look at the future.

Complacency can take a back seat,
Though.
Let me never be secure.

Allow me to raise this glass to you,
And to growth
Within one another.