The Precipitous Third

Warmed in the hearth of your presence
Glowing in your dearth and comprescence
With terms of tenderness poised to spill
For a love I could capture or kill
Still inhibition holds my heart in the headlights
As I endeavour to safeguard you in my sights
Standing ever stock still
Forswearing free will

A tongue-tied fool in the face of exposure
I scramble and pray for footsure composure
Swearing every plaudit is penultimate,
I expect you to turn tail and quit
Yet I’m holding out hope,
That you're far from the end of your rope