Buses Arrive Too Soon

Outside lips dribbling over the collar of my sweater, breath freezing in mid air.
Through bangs I stare off to the left, waiting for the two lights symbolizing arrival soon.
Hands tucked in my sleeve, switching the sound of the setting while watching to the right instinctively.
Quivering when I notice steps walking over the white lines on the asfault closer and closer I am to tremble.
Eyes watching the time only to cherish the little time my lips are moving to speak.
They say its important to keep eye contact, but mine always love to look up and down into detail.
Tripping over my tongue, I have to keep my lines as straight; maybe you never noticed.
I take my stuttered hand and give you a proper salutation; my mind quarreling with my actions.
Think -- think -- breathe in and out, or out and in; blink -- blink, swallow -- keep it steady.
Clenching my tongue in my teeth, its useless to speak anything short of a casual talk.
As acquainted as I am, I just might want to stop breathing when my mind slams the book on my fingers.
Any other day I might have just arrive there earlier to prepare myself for a task that's futile to meet.
Denouncing myself, and quoting that this is impossible to do, its impossible to say; and I hope to God it's impossible to notice.
I've relied on luck for to long, and maybe you've seen the truth relapsing in my eyes, though my mouth will just go back to biting my sweater.
It would be so much easier, if I stopped pretending, but I still hope you don't realize that my body outside, isn't really cold.
I've just failed to admit that; bending my knees -- impossible -- just climb up those steps and I'll be right behind waiting for tomorrow.
From this, I've concluded, I have not much time to tell you much of anything; buses arrive too soon.